


Loneliness Makes Us Weak

by regina_stellaris



Category: Warcraft (2016), Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Callan & Khadgar are best friends, Character studies, Confrontations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fel-Magic, Hurt/Comfort, Lothar doesn't appear until ch6, M/M, Magic-Users, Missing Scene, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Original Character(s), Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spells & Enchantments, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:29:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8187892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regina_stellaris/pseuds/regina_stellaris
Summary: “By the Light, are you retarded?!”, he hears Lothar yell at him over the sound of the wind sweeping around him, “How can you fall asleep on a gryphon?!”

  Chapter 11
This is a birthday fanfiction for my good friend Chelly, who plays Khadgar in our RP.





	1. Problems

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, Chelly!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story as much as I do writing it. :)

It is late when Callan comes home.

Khadgar immediately knows his friend is pissed. There is a certain stiffness in Callan's shoulders that tell of his mood, and if this is no indicator, the gestures with which the young soldier takes off his armor and throws it through the room certainly are. Khadgar can only guess what upset his friend like this, but does not say anything just yet. Callan will tell him eventually what plagues his mind, as he always does. So the mage continues reading his book while Callan goes about his business in their shared room, washing his face and drinking a few sips of water before taking off his mud-caked boots.

When it is done, he sinks onto the edge of the bed and runs a hand over his face, still fuming. Khadgar closes the book with an audible pop, a quiet confirmation that he is willing to listen to everything that is bothering the young man. Callan's shoulders sag slightly, and he falls back onto the mattress filled with hay. It rustles when he lies down by Khadgars feet.

"It's Cooper again," he says. "He said that I only made it as his second in command because my dad is the commander of the army! Can you believe that?! As if my efforts mean nothing!"

"He just wants to rouse you so that you do something stupid," Khadgar tugs at Callan until the soldier lies beside him, then starts to massage the taut muscles. Callan groans low in his throat when a particularly hard knot comes apart under the mages deft fingers.

"I know," Callan's eyes close. "He's just looking for a reason to get me reassigned to some random garrison I've never heard about. And I've tried to keep calm, I've tried to, but ... to insult me like this ..." Callan shakes his head. "I don't know how long I can control myself not to do something stupid."

Khadgar stops his ministrations, then asks, "What if you told your father?"

A laugh escapes Callan's mouth, a harsh, bitter sound. "Nah, that's probably what Cooper wants, that I run to daddy, crying. As if the mighty commander had time to deal with my problems." _Or care at all_ , is left unsaid, but Khadgar hears it all the same. Callan's complicated relationship with Anduin Lothar is well known to him, he of all people should know better. His heart hurts when he thinks about the neglect the Lion of Azeroth bestows upon his only son, and a small part of him is furious with the man, even though they've never met before.

But he knows he cannot do anything to help his friend in this situation, even if he wants to go to Anduin Lothar's quarters and knock some sense into the man. What will it take for the guy to see what he has done to his son all these years? He sighs, "At least tell your aunt. She'll listen to you."

"Perhaps," Callan murmurs. Khadgar's light ministrations on his shoulders are slowly putting him to sleep. "I have to be up at sunrise."

"I'll wake you up, don't worry," Khadgar says, his eyes glowing blue with Arcane magic. The candle flicks out, and the blanket is pulled over the two bodies in the bed as if by an invisible hand. They lie chest to back, Callan in Khadgar's embrace, and the soldier feels safe, protected. He snuggles a little closer to the mage and then oblivion embraces him like an old friend.

-

The next morning begins just as early as the last. Khadgar rises with Callan and tries to fix his terrible bed hair before he goes to fetch water for his friend. Callan nods at him thankfully as he returns, then applies a green paste and starts shaving. Compared to Khadgar, who only sees the razor once a week at best, Callan has to shave daily, for his beard grows like weed. And he prefers to be beardless, because sometimes, after long, daunting missions, he looks far too much like his father for his liking. It is enough that he has to see the man almost daily while stationed in Stormwind, he doesn't need to see him in the mirror as well. It tugs at his heart, as it reminds him of something that he cannot change, although he'd like to do just that.

A sigh escapes him. Khadgar, who's gone and made him breakfast from the little bread and cheese they have, grins at him. The sight makes Callan laugh, for the mage's hair is still tousled from sleep. Khadgar sulks at the sound, which makes Callan laugh even harder. Then he abruptly stops when he nearly cuts his ear off.

“Breakfast's ready,” Khadgar singsongs. Callan rolls his eyes and cleans his face with one of the washrags that made from an old shirt, before sitting down at the small table next to Khadgar, “If you start calling me 'darling,' people will start to gossip.”

“Let them,” Khadgar shrugs and takes a slice of bread. There are only three of them, so he takes the smallest, leaving the two other slices for Callan to eat. The soldier doesn't know if he should slap his friend or hug him for this thoughtfulness, so he settles for neither. His father would be proud.

“It's still a little bit … unsettling”, he jokes to overcome the – in his eyes – awkward situation, “I mean, not that you're not handsome in your own way, but you're certainly not my type.”

“I know,” Khadgar grins, his mouth full of cheese. It's the most disgusting sight Callan has ever seen, so he flicks breadcrumbs at him, which makes the mage's smirk grow even wider, “You know, there is this spell that can turn males to females-”

“Oh no, you don't,” Callan says in mockingly horrified before he tries to spread the cheese on the bread slice and fails. Khadgar rolls his eyes, takes it out of his hands and does it for him so that the soldier may finally eat, “You as a female … I don't think Azeroth could handle it.”

“Probably not,” Khadgar laughs and sucks at the dry crust of his slice, “But I wanted to tell you in advance. Just in case you someday find a female looking and acting like me in your bed. So that you don't jump me and stuff.”

If Callan didn't know that Khadgar is trying desperately to make him laugh, he would be offended. As if he's going to jump a female in his bed the minute he sees her. Please, he's got at least enough appreciation to ask her if she's going to be okay with that and then jump her, thank you very much. He's not an animal. He has manners, “Don't worry, I'd recognize your skinny frame the minute I see you, so that's not gonna be a problem.”

Khadgar looks a little hurt at that, “Is it at least a nice skinny frame?”

“Sure,” Callan says, grinning himself. His mouth is full of cheese, too, so he looks about as disgusting as Khadgar did a few minutes ago. The mage laughs, “Your frame looks a lot better than others. Have you seen the maid Linda recently? I didn't know it was possible for a woman with the figure of a stick to loose even more weight.”

Khadgar blushes a little, his grin almost breaking his face in two. They spend the rest of their time gossiping about skinny maids and other topics, before Callan realizes that he's got to go if he wants to make it to Captain Cooper in time. He pushes the last of the bread into his mouth and starts putting on his armor. Meanwhile, Khadgar clears the table, then slips back into bed, a book in his hand. Callan can only shake his head, too used to this image to feel anything but fond exasperation.

“I'll be back in two days. Cooper's taking us green soldiers out on patrol to, and I quote, 'give us a feeling of not having walls protect us' “, his voice drips with sarcasm. He runs a hand through his hair, “And then he called us city-brats.”

“Wonderful,” Khadgar says dryly, “Perhaps you really should punch him. At least to make him stop mocking you for a few minutes.”

“Yeah, no,” Callan grins at his friend, then shakes his head sadly, “As tempting as this train of thought is, it would do me more harm than good. No, I'm going to proof him that I'm worthy of respect. And when I have a higher rank than him, I'm gonna assign his ass to the worst parts of the kingdom personally.”

“That sounds lovely. I almost believed that. You should add some evil laughter to your speech next time, then it'll seem not at all fake”, how Khadgar can read his book and sass him out at the same time is beyond Callan, so he just takes the washrag and throws it at his friend. Sadly for him, Khadgar's reflexes are sharp enough that he manages to catch it, if barely so, “You're going to be late if you don't go.”

Callan startles then gazes upon the position of the sun through the small window of his room. “Shit, I've got to go. See you in two days!” He waves at Khadgar, who finally looks up and wishes him luck before he grabs his helmet and makes a run for it. Darting through corridors, he runs as though an army of trolls is behind him, almost crashing into a few maids and fellow guards at one point. But he makes it in time. And when Cooper tells him and his comrades to fall in, he swears that he sees his father watching him from a window.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the next nine chapters already written and will probably upload the story once every two to three days. Some chapters are short, some are longer, but all have their very own charm.


	2. The First Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this.

_Khadgar and Callan met in an alley between the Dwarven District and the Canals._

_Khadgar has only been in Stormwind for a few hours before thieves target him. Perhaps his innocent face draws them in; he isn't sure. He only knows they work in pairs, one of them capturing his mouth and pressing a dagger to his throat while the other rummages through his meager belongings in search of gold and trinkets. All they find are a book, a quill and a few coins that he managed to salvage from the Kirin Tor before he left Dalaran._

_They take the coins and Khadgar almost relaxes, thinking they're going to release him, when the hitting starts. They call him a good for nothing foreigner, yell at him because he hasn't got more to offer, then strip him of his cloak and his brooch. Khadgar curls in on himself and cries out every time they strike him, but otherwise, doesn't try to defend himself. The idea to use his magic doesn't even cross his mind until after they've finally stopped and left._

_Hot tears of shame and regret leave his eyes, and before he knows, he sits on the cold stone floor of the alley, wraps his arms around his knees and weeps. The loss of his belongings may be sad, but this cloak has been the only thing connecting him to his family, the only thing that has truly belonged to him the entire time he has been with the Kirin Tor. Its loss feels as if the thieves have ripped his heart out and thrown it to the ground. His sobs increase as he realizes what this loss truly means for him. If he doesn't have something to stave off the cold, he'll probably die tonight. Although the days are warm and wet, the nights are cold and clammy. Without some coins, he's not going to get a room at one of the taverns tonight, and with his cloak gone, he can't even sleep on the floor. In his panic, he forgets his magic entirely. He's not trained for stays outside of Dalaran and has chosen Stormwind on a whim. Perhaps he should have gone to Lordaeron instead then this wouldn't have happened! Stupid Khadgar!_

_Still reminiscing his past choices and scolding himself for them, he doesn't hear the footsteps that grow louder and louder, until someone is standing right next to him. Khadgar goes stiff with panic, thinking that one of his attackers has returned. It isn't until an armored hand settles on his shoulder that he looks up with fearful eyes._

_Before him kneels a soldier barely older if not younger than him. He has fair hair, bright eyes, and a confident grin. Khadgar feels himself relax at the sight of the younger man involuntarily before he reminds himself that there are people out here who probably mask their bad intentions with a gentle smile. So he stays wary. The stranger doesn't seem to mind that too much, though, as he sits down on the cold stone floor the other side of the alley and leans against the wooden wall of the house behind him. He waits until some of the tension leaves the young mage before he speaks._

“ _Hey,” the sound of his voice alone makes Khadgar stiff as a board again, “My name is Callan. What's yours?” His tone is light but commanding. Khadgar swallows. He doesn't think it good to lie, so he sticks with the truth._

“ _K-Khadgar,” he whispers. Callan nods._

“ _Nice to meet you, Khadgar,” he says, smiling gently. “What happened to you? You are hurt badly.”_

_Khadgar takes some time before he answers, his arms still clutching his knees, “I … came to visit Stormwind on a whim and then … I don't know … where to go. They took everything!” He starts crying again, big fat ugly tears rolling down cheeks which burn with shame. Burying his head between his knees as not to make Callan see his failure, as not to make himself see the pity in the other boy's eyes, he shudders as more and more sobs rock his frame. He is faintly aware of the young soldier because of the noise his armor makes but is still startled when there is suddenly an arm around his shoulder. Warmth spreads through him at the contact, a heat he isn't used to, and he cries all the harder for it, buries his face in Callan's shoulder. The younger boy holds him until he is cried out, then releases him with an awkward smile. He seems to be at a loss, and this makes Khadgar less wary of him than anything else Callan could've done to convince him. He clears his throat._

“ _I apologize for this … outburst.”_

“ _No problem,” Callan runs a hand through his hair, “I totally get it. Sometimes, it's just too much. The pressure builds up, then something out of the ordinary happens and BOOM, it crashes you like a boulder.”_

_Khadgar has to laugh at the image of himself stuck under a giant rock. It comes out as half a hiccup. “Yeah, it certainly felt like that.”_

“ _So,” now Callan sounds wary. He eyes Khadgar up and down, before his eyes settle for the bruise on the mage's cheek, “Are you gonna tell me what happened to you?”_

“ _Yeah,” Khadgar breathes in deeply, becoming aware of the alley's stench for the first time. It smells of burnt bread, cats and urine, the latter an indicator for Stormwind's excellent if outdated sewage system, “I was robbed by two guys. One was tall and thin, the other small and broad. They looked like they'd done this before.”_

_Callan just nods, “Let's get out of here before those guys come back and decide to take your clothes as well.” Khadgar turns pale and Callan looks like he wants to bang his head against the wall. His gaze is apologetic, “Sorry, didn't mean to worry you. Er … let's just get out of here. And don't worry, I'll protect you.”_

_Callan takes Khadgar to the Cathedral, a tall structure where the people of Stormwind worship the Light. He swallows, not knowing if he is worthy to enter as he is a mage, but Callan just drags him along the steps. While walking, Khadgar realizes how much his body hurts from the beating. It feels like one large bruise, and he wouldn't be surprised if he's turned purple already._

_But nothing like this seems to be the case, as no one pays Khadgar any mind. There are worshipers, man, and woman alike kneeling before the altar and saying their prayers, begging the Light for another good harvest or a routine patrol. Khadgar takes it all in, trying to sate his immense curiosity which has gotten him into trouble before. He can't stop staring at the large frescoes which adorn the windows and only Callan's impatient if gentle tug reminds him why he's here._

_He blushes and clears his throat, coming face to face with a woman with graying hair and strict brown eyes. She's introduced to him as Priestess Michaela, head of the healers of the Holy Light. Khadgar can't help but feel the same awe towards her that he did for the frescoes and when she tells him to undress, he obeys without a second thought._

_When his shirt is off, the damage looks worse. The skin on his back is already starting to turn blue and purple, while red blemishes cover his front. The mage sees Callan's face go red with anger but knows that this emotion is not directed at him. Somehow, it's flattering, to think that someone feels this strong an emotion on his behalf. He doesn't deserve it, so he casts his gaze down and does everything the woman tells him to do from turning around to bending in a certain way. Only her gasp makes him forget his dark thoughts for a moment, and he wonders what has made her react like that._

_Michaela is staring at his left forearm where the eye with the rays going down marks him as a member of the Kirin Tor. He feels his fear resurfacing as Callan reflexively makes for the hilt of his sword at the sight. Mages seem not to be appreciated in this city; Khadgar realizes too late. Perhaps he can still get out and try his luck in Lordaeron- The woman's resuming of his healing process startles him out of his thoughts yet again. Callan's hand is still on the sword, but he looks at Khadgar's face intently, then let's go of the hilt, crossing his arms over his chest. Khadgar is so relieved that he wants to cry, but there are no tears left, and so he saves himself from another humiliation._

_The healing magic does its work, his bruises disappear. Khadgar sighs in relief of being relatively pain-free once more before he thanks the woman graciously. She seems to have lost her reservation, because she tells him to take care of himself, then sends him and Callan on his way. A small part of Khadgar wonders if she is glad to be rid of a mage as a patient, but then shakes his head. These thoughts are only speculation and will yield nothing, so he buries it deep within his mind. Callan on his side stays silent until they leave the Cathedral, whereas he leads Khadgar to a bench near the fountain and sits down, indicating for Khadgar to do the same._

_As the mage is getting seated, Callan clears his throat and looks at him with some reservation, but not unkindly, “I don't know what you are doing in this city, but you better tell me right now. I want to give you the benefit of the doubt, Khadgar, but if you're a threat to this kingdom, I will have to report it, no matter how nice you are.”_

_Khadgar nods and then swallows. How can he tell someone about his greatest shame when it has only been a few days since? How can he tell someone if he hasn't wrapped his head around it himself? “I,” he starts, then his voice gives out. He's nervous and rows at the skin around his fingernails, “I am from the Kirin Tor.” He takes a deep breath before he continues, “I renounced my vows and left.”_

“ _Left?”, Callan raises an eyebrow, “I heard that no one has ever left the Kirin Tor before. From what I know, they're the most prestigious mages in the entire world. Why would you want to leave them, when everyone is trying to get in with them?”_

_Khadgar closes his eyes, “Let's just say that I was fed up with some of their expectations for me and didn't want to be controlled by them anymore.” He fixes Callan with his gaze, showing him his sadness, “And I didn't join them of my own free will, either.”_

_Callan's eyes widen in surprise, “So, they took you, or …?”_

“ _I was given to the Kirin Tor when I was six,” Khadgar answers the soldier's question sharper than intended. This topic is still a sore spot in his heart, “I didn't have a choice, you know? So I went about changing that, and the Kirin Tor evicted me from Dalaran. That's why I'm here.”_

_The soldier is still at a loss for words. Khadgar stands up from the bench slowly and comes to stand in front of Callan, his hands nervously fumbling around. But he still finds the courage to utter his next words, “And you have a choice now, too. You can either tell your king that there is a runaway mage in his city who could pose a threat to the people, or you can help me find my cloak and then I'm off to Lordaeron again.”_

_Callan seems to consider it for a minute, eyeing Khadgar up and down. Then he sighs in surrender and closes his eyes, shaking his head, “Telling the king on you would make my conscience berate me for the rest of my life.” He stands up also, his armor ringing with every move, “Don't worry, I'll help you find your cloak. Then we'll see where that gets us.”_

_Khadgar's shoulders sag in relief. Not only is he allowed to stay in the city for the time being, but he will also have help with getting his cloak and brooch back. Now he only needs a place to stay and something to eat, and he is good to go. As this thought is crossing his mind, a sheepish grin finds the way to his face. Callan raises an eyebrow in anticipation, “You don't know a nice place to stay for someone without money by any chance?”_

_Callan throws his head back and roars with laughter, startling Khadgar and the people that cross the streets around them also. He stands beside the mage and claps him on the back, “Don't worry, I've got you covered.”_

 


	3. Taria's Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rather short, so I'm going to post this now. The next one will be uploaded in two days. 
> 
> This fanfiction is currently twelve chapters long on my computer and still nowhere near finished, so be prepared.

A few weeks after the patrol something weird happens to Callan.

Captain Allegius Cooper suddenly stops tormenting his every waking moment, only addressing him when respectfully inquiring about his point of view. It is so strange that Callan finds his concentration slipping in the first few days of Cooper's change. As if he's come to expect to be on the receiving end of taunting comments all day as some queer sort of routine that's now missing.

He asks Khadgar about it, asks him if he's got anything to do with Cooper's sudden alteration, but his friend shakes his head no. “I don't even know what he looks like,” he explains dryly while sitting on the bed, reading, “And if I did, I would've probably transformed him into a sheep, just to see how long it takes him to break free of it.”

The picture he paints with his words is so weird that Callan starts to laugh. He imagines Cooper roaming around the floor, bleating in confusion, and his side hurts. He startles Khadgar to his feet when he falls off his chair, tears of joy running down his face. Khadgar is by his side in an instant and smiles that small happy smile he always does when he makes Callan laugh. Then the mage hits his friend for making him worry.

The sun has almost set when he finally gets half an answer to his question. On his way to the smith to bring in his sword for an inspection, he runs into his aunt, Queen Taria. “Callan,” she says, “It is wonderful to see you well. You've been busy off late.”

“Sorry, Aunt Taria,” Callan has the audacity to rub at his neck in a motion of embarrassment. Taria only shakes her head, throwing one of these knowing smiles of hers his way.

“Don't be. I've heard that Captain Cooper can be quite … taxing”, Callan's looks at her astounded, before his eyes widen.

“Did you do something about him … ?” he asks amazed. Taria smiles mysteriously.

“Would you like to know,” she grasps her robe and lifts it slightly as not to make the hem drag around on the floor when she is to continue walking, “I hope you will join us for dinner? Varian and Adariall would like to see you again.”

Just like that, his good mood turns sour. He looks on the floor, anger flaring in his veins. Suddenly he is glad about his duties, glad that he has a plausible excuse, “I'm sorry, my queen, but I cannot join you. I have to bring my sword and armor to the smith for a long overdue inspection.” _And it hurts to sit in the same room as the man who doesn't even acknowledge me as his son, who refuses to call me by my name,_ he thinks. Although Taria looks a little upset about his refusal, she nods gently.

“Very well,” she runs a hand through his hair gently before clutching her robe once again, “But Varian and Adariall would still like to see you. I will arrange a meeting apart from everyone else if that is alright with you?” Callan releases the breath he hasn't known he's been holding, then nods, his smile returning.

“Yes, that is alright with me.” He would like to meet his young cousins again, even if just for a few minutes. They're always so energetic and lively, and Callan can forget all of his troubles when he's with them. Perhaps this is exactly what he needs, a short break from his everyday life which is slowly driving him mad.

“Then it will be my pleasure,” the queen interrupts his thoughts, “This is a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. Varian has been driving myself and Llane insane by asking about you.” Callan blushes and she laughs, a sound that makes his insides go warm with love.

He clears his throat. “I have to go, Aunt Taria,” he hugs her, as gently as a person in plate armor dares hug a woman in naught but a robe. She doesn't seem to mind, “Please inform me about the date you set.”

“Of course,” she kisses him on the cheek once before she finally makes her way to the grand dining room in the opposite direction. Callan sighs as he looks after her, then soldiers up and continues his way to the smith, feeling better than he has in ages.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lothar calls Callan by name only once in the entire movie, the very moment before his death. In the following shot, Callan looks as if he can't believe that actually happened right know, sending his father a look that conveys so many emotions at once it's hard to read.


	4. Misunderstandings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by RavenGryphon's fanfiction [Gifts from Family](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7885705). Go check it out!

Khadgar barely leaves the room, or rather the castle, at all.

The fear that those thieves will come and hurt him again, rob him of the last things he can call his own, make him go slack with fear. The only thing he does is going out to get water for Callan in the morning or empty the night pot, but otherwise, he stays in the room day or night.

Callan tries to change that, but Khadgar is as stubborn in this aspect as a mountain goat. The mage knows he's probably irrational, but he cannot help himself. By being robbed, he has suffered a great humiliation, even more so after remembering that he could've defended himself against the attackers with his magic, his entire being burning with such shame that he refuses to face the outside world.

Khadgar isn't aware that Callan has a plan to change his hermit-like behavior, thus leaving him completely surprised when Callan announces that he has planned something for the mage on a cold winter morning, but Khadgar has to come with him if he wants to see it. “It'll be fun, I promise,” Callan says, a smirk frozen on his face.

Khadgar laughs, “You always say that and in the end you can't deliver.”

“Says the one who never comes with me anyway. Now get your sorry ass off my bed and get dressed, we're going out”, Callan throws a dark woolen cloak at him which will keep him warm and dry in the cold. Although he looks like he wants to say something, then thinks better of it, Khadgar slips from the bed into the cloak, admiring the warmth encompassing him. He hasn't realized how cold it has been in Callan's room before, but now he feels it when he compares the feeling of his bare hands with his covered limbs. Perhaps this is the reason why he stays in the bed all the time, that intense cold permitting every room without a chimney. He shivers.

Callan seems to be completely unaffected by it, though. He wears a thinner cloak than Khadgar which is a little too short for him considering his arms and legs are a tad exposed, but it looks like he doesn't mind. Khadgar would've given him the warmer cloak, but Callan just laughs it off. “I was born in the summer, so the cold doesn't affect me as much,” he looks comfortable as he is. Khadgar raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, and lets himself be dragged through the castle by Callan who looks too much like an overeager puppy about to show its master a new trick. He grins, perhaps this really will be fun.

They leave the castle and make their way through Stormwind. Although Khadgar acts, on the inside, he's a shaking mess and unconsciously sticks to Callan like a baby duck to its mother. Every time someone with so much as a passing resemblance to his attackers walks past them, Khadgar grabs Callan's arm and only looses his fearful grip when they're gone from his line of sight.

The mage's behavior makes Callan realize that they never actually talked about Khadgar's experience with those guys. He knows that sometimes, people need to speak about their emotions, as he's seen soldiers break down from bottling it all up. By the Light, he's seen how drunk his father gets on his birthday when he cannot cope with the fact that it is also the anniversary of his wife's death, how he rather gets lost in ale than look Callan in the eye. If by going outside Khadgar feels like Callan does every time Anduin Lothar only addresses him as 'son' instead of 'Callan', he can understand why the mage would refuse to leave the haven Callan has provided him with. But it is clear that this cannot continue.

Khadgar doesn't know about his friends conflicted train of thought. He follows Callan and always stays a few steps behind him, curious as to what his friend has planned for today. The snow makes the streets of Stormwind slippery, and more than once Khadgar has to grip for the soldier when he slips, but otherwise, their journey is as safe as if can be in a city this big.

They make their way out of the castle and towards the Canals, which they follow until the purple rooftops of the Mage's District come into view. They are covered in snow, of course, but Khadgar sees their color all the same and cannot help but be reminded of the official dress code of the Kirin Tor. Callan drags him along after him and only stops when he reaches a small terrace made of stone and overlooking the sea. Khadgar would almost think it romantic if not for the fact that Callan likes him more than a brother than a lover. Or … does he …?

“I'll be right back,” Callan says and goes the stone wall on his right side removing a stone cautiously. Behind it, a cloth bound package rests and he takes it out carefully, as if not to let it get open and spill its content on the ground. Khadgar blushes when he thinks what could be in there, and his stomach fills with dread.

Is Callan in love with him …? Why else would he drag Khadgar out this early in the morning, if not to show him a beautiful view of the sea and confess his feelings? He starts to run his hands together nervously, fingers numb with cold, his heart pounding in his ears. Callan meanwhile reassembles the stone and turns around to the mage, holding the package in between his fingers. His smile is so gentle that it makes Khadgar's stomach coil. By the Light, how can he let Callan down without damaging their friendship, which has come to mean so much to him? What if he refuses to stay friends, tells the king on him in his anger and makes sure he is chased out of the city? Khadgar doesn't want to lose this easy intimacy between himself and the soldier. His eyes water and Callan's eyes widen in surprise.

“Khadgar, what's wrong?” he asks, stepping towards the mage. Khadgar sobs.

“I don't know … how to handle this situation”, he manages to grit out in between hiccups before the fear of abandonment claws at his heart, “I don't want to ruin our friendship, you know.”

“Er … what?”, now Callan's stomach fills with dread. Could it be that Khadgar is in love with him …? This would change absolutely everything because only the thought of doing something sexual with Khadgar makes him want to vomit. Not that Khadgar isn't cute in his way, but Callan is more for soft curves and breasts, both of which Khadgar definitively has lacked last time he has checked. He scratches his cheek awkwardly, not knowing what to say. “Er … are you, like, in love with me or something? Because I would totally get it, I'm quite the catch”, a little joke to ease the tension, “but … seriously, is that it?”

“What?”, Khadgar's sobbing makes room for a confused gaze, “I thought you're in love with me.”

“Well … not like that. I love you more like a … brother, you know?” by the Light, how has this turned into this weird conversation? Did they pass a portal to another dimension or something?

Khadgar seems to realize his mistake, the misunderstanding between them and slaps his forehead, “Geez, I'm stupid.”

“Don't say that,” Callan says fiercely, “You read, like, five books a day, so you can't be dumb.”

“It's just three books a day, but that's not the stupid I mean,” he wipes his face and starts laughing, “You can have a lot of knowledge and still be stupid in regards to social interaction, you know.”

“Oh,” Callan gets it now, too, “Oh! Of course, now I get it. Yes, you're stupid.” He flashes Khadgar a grin that is all teeth and the mage smiles back before blushing like a maid.

“Sorry.”

“No problem,” Callan shrugs his shoulders, “At least we've now got that awkward situation settled. I'm not intimately interested in you. You're family.”

The sentence warms Khadgar to his core, and he beams at Callan, curiosity making him look at the package the soldier still holds in his hands. Callan's smile turns sheepish, and his face goes red as well, “What's in it?”

“I actually wanted to give this to you a long time ago, but I was so busy that I forgot, and then I thought it would make a good present for you”, he rambles on, before stepping towards Khadgar and putting the package in the mage's hands, “Happy Birthday, Khad.”

Khadgar feels like someone pulled a rug out from under him. He doesn't know what to say. No one has ever bothered to give him a gift for his birthday, and he realizes with a startling understanding that he forgot about this day entirely. With shaking hands, he fumbles the cloth open, dragging it away to reveal the treasure hidden among it. A gasp escapes him when he sees a familiar shade of blue and pulls his cloak out in a sudden movement, pressing it against his chest. Something clatters to the floor, and Khadgar sees his brooch lying on the stone between tufts of snow, his vision becoming watery as he picks it up. Callan still smiles gently at him, “I found the thieves two months after we met,” he confesses, “They still had your cloak and the brooch because no trader wanted to buy them. I had the maids wash it three times to get rid of their stench, then placed it in my chest. I totally forgot about it for some time, and when I finally remembered, Winter's Veil had already passed. So I thought it would be a good birthday present for you.”

“It's the best,” Khadgar strokes his cloak, then throws himself into Callan's arms, almost knocking the young soldier off his feet, “Thank you so much, Callan. You have no idea what this means to me.” He's crying again, but this time, he's not ashamed to show his emotions. Callan has given the last memento of his family back to him, and for this, he will be eternally grateful. Callan's arms come around his frame, pressing him against the soldier.

They stay like this for some time, not bothering to move, before a pointed look and a cough from a female guard break them apart. Khadgar again wipes away the tear tracks, while Callan talks to the woman, telling her that, yes, everything is alright, and that he has just given his best friend the most awesome birthday present ever. Khadgar comes to his aid, smiling, and the woman relents, letting them go their way. When she has finally rounded the corner and is out of earshot, Khadgar and Callan start to laugh like maniacs.

“Rumors are coming,” Khadgar says in a mockingly serious tone, causing the blonde to laugh even louder, “How much do you want to bet that tomorrow everyone is going to think that we're a couple?”

“One gold piece. And don't worry, we can handle it, darling”, Callan throws an arm around Khadgar and drags him close, “But for now, we should get out of the cold. It's freezing.”

“What was that about being born in the summer and thus being more resilient to the cold?”

“Shut up, Khad.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If someone is interested in throwing me a prompt, you can do it [here](http://reginastellaris.tumblr.com/).


	5. A Mage's Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fanfiction will be so long, guys. It already has 25,000 words and they have yet to arrive in Karazhan. I'm a sucker for details, sorry. (not sorry)

Callan somehow manages to keep Khadgar's existence a secret for more than half a year.

No rumors are spread about them after Khadgar's birthday, and if the maids know about the mage's sleeping arrangement, they keep quiet about it. There are no sudden guards barging in the room, but there is no food as well when Callan is not assigned to Stormwind. Even Aunt Taria seems not to have noticed that there is a mage living in the castle with them, although she always knows everything. And Callan is more thankful about this fact when he comes to his room after a gruesome training session with his father.

Khadgar kneels in the middle of a large role of parchment, thin straps of light slowly soaring around him. His eyes glow so bright that all Callan sees are two bluish hues in the mage's face before his gaze travels to the scroll Khadgar is standing on. Runes and other magical figures appear to be drawn on it and wisps of blue light are floating from them to an amulet Khadgar is holding in his hand. And then he finally hears the words, “... e'rath omnas rath-anu'thanos dura'mat takk'ail … e'rath omnas rath-anu'thanos dura'mat takk'ail ...”, Khadgar is chanting it over and over while more and more wisps of light start feeding into the the stone. It starts glowing also; soon enough Callan's entire room is bathed in Arcane energy.

And all the young soldier can do is stare at his best friend, the mage that he is. Before today, he has always assumed that Khadgar's abilities are mediocre at best, that this has been the reason why he has left the Kirin Tor. But now he sees proof that Khadgar is strong, the way he channels the magic into this gem. It reminds Callan of how a person would fill a glass of wine by slowly infusing it with liquid. He cannot help but stare at Khadgar's display of power and for some reason, watching his friend makes him feel safer than anything else in the world.

The light turns so bright that it seems like he's staring at the sun, but then it dims quickly. Khadgar keels over, his hand still clutching the amulet and Callan barely manages to catch his falling form before he makes contact with the floor. Khadgar's eyes still glow blue. However, the magic fades with time. He is gasping for breath and looks at Callan, stunned as if he cannot believe the young soldier to be here. Callan grins at him.

“I'm living here, too, you know?”, Khadgar blinks at him.

“I know”, he says, his voice hoarse, “But I didn't expect you to be early.”

“Early?”, Callan maneuvers Khadgar so that the mage's head rests in his lap, before stroking a lock of dark hair out of Khadgar's face. His friend's forehead is slick with sweat, “I've done over time, almost thought Dad would never let me go. He's upset for some reason today.”

“Oh,” Khadgar looks towards the window and sees that the sun is setting already, “Then I must've taken my sweet time enchanting this here amulet,” he holds his hand up opens it for Callan to see. The sight is astounding. Embraced by a golden frame sits an ocean sapphire that is the very same shade as Callan's eyes. A delicate necklace is woven through links in the setting, its golden color glinting in the light of the setting sun. It takes Callan's breath away, and he almost raises a hand to touch it but thinks better before he can go through with this. Khadgar smiles up at him, “It seems we are in the same situation that befell us before.”

Callan doesn't understand, so the mage pushes himself up by the elbows and looks his friend in the eye, before he plants the amulet gently in his hands, “Happy Birthday, you idiot.”

At first, the soldier looks at the gem in his hands a little dumbfounded, then in exasperation. He can under no circumstances accept such a precious gift. “Khadgar … this is too much. I can't take this.”

The mage smiles at him and finally sits up, exhaustion palpable in his face. “You can and you will, and if it is the last thing I do,” he shakes his head and levels a fond gaze upon his best friend, “Don't tell me I wasted three hours of spell work and two hours of infusing this with magic for nothing.”

“W-What?”, Callan runs a hand over the sapphire, which glows with energy, “What did you do to it?” He can't help the sliver of suspicion that creeps into his voice, but Khadgar takes it in stride.

“I infused a powerful spell work within the sapphire that I spent this morning and the better part of the afternoon inventing,” Khadgar's chest puffs with pride, “It's a protection spell which will activate when your life is in danger.”

“And what will it do?”

“It'll engulf your body in a barrier of pure mana which absolutely no weapon can destroy, be it teeth or spears or swords or whatever, while simultaneously releasing a wave of Arcane energy outward which will knock everyone within a certain radius around you off their feet, by channeling the magic directly from the resident ley line and feeding it into the shield until it overloads and sends a massive attack outwards as not to collapse in on itself-”

“Wait a moment, hang on,” Callan didn't get most of that, “Can you repeat that for me in common, please?”

Khadgar rolls his eyes, “Wear it and it will protect you from certain death,” he pouts, “I'm rambling for the first time since we know each other, and you have to go and interrupt me.”

“It was a pleasant ramble,” Callan is still fascinated by the gem itself and runs over it with his thumb, while Khadgar slowly gets up and wobbles to the bed. He falls on the mattress face first and groans in exhaustion, causing the young soldier to stir and raise as well, “You look completely exhausted. Was it that tiring, doing this spell work for me?”

“Yeah,” the answer is groaned into the pillow, “It's not that I don't have enough power, but I lack practice. It's been a while since I've woven such an intricate spell.” Feeling flattered by the mage's comment, Callan nudges his friend and Khadgar scoots over so that the soldier can lie down next to him. Before he does that, however, Callan attaches the necklace's chain to his neck and lets the gem fall down his chest. It feels warm on his skin, almost like a blanket that is protecting him and he doesn't know how to appreciate the effort Khadgar has put into this correctly. But the mage seems to be pleased that he put in on altogether and smiles at the soldier.

“Wear it all the time,” he whispers, “So that you're safe if something happens.” Callan hears the fear in Khadgar's voice, a fear that may one day become real, for Callan being part of Stormwind's military will always be dangerous for the blonde. He drags Khadgar towards him into a tight embrace.

“Don't worry, Khad.”

“I'm … I'm scared that you won't come back one day”, Khadgar admits, his voice full of emotion, “That someone comes in and tells me that you died in battle before throwing me out of the castle. That I will find myself without a home, without my family once again.”

Callan's heart grows sad at these words, but he tries to stay positive, “You're not going to get rid of me that easily,” he grins when Khadgar laughs quietly, “But just to be sure, I'm gonna wear the amulet, so don't you worry.”

He has to assure the young mage for a few more minutes before Khadgar finally falls into an exhausted slumber. Callan himself, however, stays awake for a good part of the night, his hand playing with his gift. Somehow, he feels like the peace of the last years is not going to last any longer, that something is stirring in the darkest corners of the kingdom. Callan tightens his hold of Khadgar, ignoring the drool that escapes the mage's mouth as he snores. He wishes it would stay like this forever. But sadly, he doubts it will last.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The magic I used in this chapter is partially taken from the Suramar questline mixed with that I think I heard when Khadgar used the spell in Elwynn Forest. Please correct me if I'm mistaken :)


	6. Confrontation, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little character exploration of mine.
> 
> Please note that all the feelings, situations, and observations stem from my experience with depression.
> 
> Thank you.

Shortly after Callan's birthday, the young soldier's assigned to accompany King Llane and the rest of the royal family to a social visit in Lakeshire. A noble from the area has declared his daughter of age and is arranging a ball in her name, officially to celebrate her birthday, unofficially to find her a suitable husband. He's invited almost all the nobles of the Kingdom of Azeroth; King Llane's refusal to show up would be seen as a terrible insult, so he has to attend, no matter what, as not to damage his standing with the lords and ladies which provide him with men and food.

Khadgar understands politics; he understands the importance of the fact that the King has to rub shoulders with the noble's once in a while, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. And right now, he wants to curse them all for taking his best friend away from him for almost a month. Would it have been so difficult to assign someone else to the guard detail around King Llane? He discusses as much with Callan when the soldier packs his bag for the beginning of his little journey on the next day.

“I think Aunt Taria assigned me,” Callan says. Khadgar lies on the bed, fuming, silently staring holes into the ceiling. Callan has never seen him so distraught, “Hey, it's not like I'm gone forever.”

“I know, but still,” Khadgar wants to admit to Callan that the thought of the crushing loneliness he'll likely suffer almost makes him go mad, but he holds himself back. He doesn't want to make his friend feel guilty for leaving him, and most of all, he doesn't want to be perceived as a clingy person who's not able to cope without his best friend anymore.

“Perhaps she wants to get me away from Dad. He's been downright awful of late,” he stuffs a fresh linen shirt into the bag, “That's probably why he's going on the diplomatic mission to the dwarves.”

“The dwarves?”, Khadgar is stunned. He's heard much about the dwarves, especially since his name derives from their language, but he's never seen one before, “Are they really as they say? That they drink ale like water and thus are drunk all the time? How do they manage to get anything done?”

Callan laughs, “Have you seen my father? He's drunk, like, all the time, and he manages to run the army and give his soldiers a hard time. He's probably gonna be more at home in the Dwarven taverns than here.” It hurts that Callan can say that so nonchalantly, but he's had a lot of training over the years, “Anyway, enough of my Dad. What are you going to do while I'm gone?”

“I don't know,” Khadgar sits up slightly, grips a book from the nightstand out of sheer reflex, “Reading, probably.”

“Of course you'd do that. I don't even know why I'm surprised anymore,” Callan grins at the mage, before the lets the now packed bag fall to the floor and takes off his armor, “I can't imagine what you'd do when all the books in the world suddenly disappeared.”

“I'd rather not find out,” Khadgar shudders,“What a terrible thought. Knowledge is power after all.” He bends forward and hits Callan's now unarmored shoulder, hard. The soldier gasps and rubs the spot tenderly, apparently surprised by the power behind it. He retaliates by knocking the book from Khadgar's hands and sticks out his tongue when the mage makes a disgruntled noise at Callan's rudeness to his precious temples of knowledge, “Okay, now you've done it. I don't wanna see you for a while.“

Callan knows that Khadgar's kidding, but he plays along. One hand comes to rest over his heart, and his face scrunches up, “How can you say something like this to me after all that we've been through?“, he seems like he's about to cry and Khadgar rolls his eyes, grinning.

“Do you have any idea how stupid you look like this?“, Callan's face scrunches up even more. His eyes are almost closed, with only a small sliver of visibility, his teeth are protruding and look like that of a bunny, and his lower lip is sucked into his mouth. Khadgar cannot help but laugh, for the face appears like that of an old man and a baby at the same time. Callan tries to remain like this but has to give up when he, too, starts grinning like a maniac.

They continue to have fun until late into the evening, but then Callan has to retire if he doesn't want to be late for the next morning. Khadgar is already half asleep when the young soldier realizes that he has forgotten his shield in the barracks which he will need tomorrow. He shakes the mage's shoulder slightly, trying to rouse him long enough to make sure he knows where he is, “Khad, I left my shield in the barracks. Don't you worry, I'll be right back.“ Khadgar just nods, drifting off once again. Fondness creeps into Callan's heart at the sight, and he is yet again grateful that he has offered the mage his room to stay all those months ago. Wiping away a strand of Khadgar's dark hair from his forehead, he lets his fingers linger on his friend's cheek, before finally turning around and leaving the room.

Luckily enough, the barracks are not too far away from his room, or rather the other way around, as all soldiers living in the castle, are required to report to the Armory's master within minutes of an attack. That makes Callan's way a short one. He goes down one corridor, enters the courtyard and crosses it to reach the barracks. At this hour of the day, most of the soldiers are likely still up, polishing their swords or indulging in some nightly debates around the war table, planning strategies and troop movements to strike an enemy that isn't there.

Callan opens the door made of wood, light and noise drifting towards him. A redhead sits at a table, lute in hand, and sings a song in a melodic voice, yet never gets the tune quite right, while several comrades urge her to continue. They're probably drunk, as the discipline isn't as tight during times of peace and the commander's the prime example anyway. In another corner, two soldiers sit together, pouring over a thick tome which looks like it was written hundreds of years ago, while another snores at their feet. More men and women occupy the middle of the short entry hall, diligently cleaning their armor and sharpening their swords. They look ready to strike any enemy sat before them, and somehow, this wisdom calms Callan deeply, that there are at least some who are willing and sober.

His way leads him through a couple of swing doors behind which lies the armory of Stormwind, a rather big room full of every weapon and shield that's ever been crafted in the royal smithery. The most valuable ones, those for the commanding officer's and the king himself and molded in the likeness of a lion, are arranged in perfect order on a timber scaffolding in the center of the room, while those for the lesser soldiers are hanging from the walls. They're only reachable by the use of a ladder from a smaller closet, and this is exactly the place Callan strides to. Before he can reach it, however, a voice halts him in place.

“What are you doing here, son?“, Callan's eyes widen when he recognizes his father. Turning around, he sees Anduin Lothar striding towards him, his eyes red-rimmed. The man is clearly drunk again, and somehow his entire posture paints an aggressive picture in Callan's mind, letting the hairs on his neck stand on end.

“I, erm,“ he clears his throat as his father finally comes to stand before him. The man's breath stinks of ale and wine like he's been drinking both together, but it doesn't matter what he drank. All that matters is that he's drunk _again_ , like every other day of Callan's life it seems, “I'm just here to gather my shield before my mission tomorrow, _commander._ “ He thinks that by distancing himself from his father through words and phrases, he'll make Lothar's likely hurtful words sting less.

“And why,“ his father draws nearer, holding his arm towards his chest as if it's injured. Callan realizes that he makes this gesture very often when his head is swimming in ale, “is it that you have to gather your shield at this hour of the day, son?“ Lothar speaks surprisingly clear for someone who's as inebriated as he is.

Callan squares his shoulders, not about to back down from his father. He, too, can use his words like a weapon, “Because I'm not a burned out soldier who's got all of his arms and shields in his room,“ a nasty smirk stretches Lothar's lips, like he cannot believe what Callan is saying, “Tucked right between those many bottles of mead you can't sleep without.“ The smirk vanishes as fast as it appeared and Lothar growls deeply in his throat, a bad sound to all that hear it. But Callan is far too used to his old man's mannerisms, so he shakes it off like a bad dream, “You pretend that you mourn my mother, the woman who died giving birth to me, but do you know what I think? I think you don't know what to do aside from drinking. I think you've forgotten how to spend your free time without touching a single bottle of the stuff“, Lothar's mouth twitches. Callan knows he's skating on thin ice, but he doesn't care anymore. All the anger, all the hurt that he's kept in for years suddenly opens up within him, filling him until there's nothing left off himself beside his desire to hurt his father back, “You've become just a pathetic excuse of the real, glorious Anduin Lothar, you know, just a selfish asshole who doesn't give a crap about others-“, he can't finish the sentence, because Lothar strikes him. Pain floods his senses, and he stumbles, his back colliding with the stone wall behind him, forcing the breath out if his lungs. Lothar's hand is still poised in the air, shaking with anger.

“Never talk to me like this again,“ he hisses dangerously, his voice thick, “Or you won't be my son anymore.“ This makes Callan see red. With a shout, he runs up and slams into his father, both of them tumbling to the ground. He hears the older man cough like crazy, but doesn't care, doesn't want to see it. All he wants to do is to hit Lothar until the man bleeds like Callan's emotions do every time they're in the same room together and he's not acknowledged. But his father won't go down that easy, as he flips them over so that Callan is now on the ground and Lothar's straddling him. Lothar holds Callan's hands with one of his own, the other over Callan's mouth, and comes dangerously close to his face with his own, so much so that the younger soldier can make out all the different shades of blue in his father's eyes. “You think you can take me on?“, Lothar's breath makes Callan's stomach turn, “Let me tell you something, _soldier_. I've bested men twice your age when I was as old as you. I grew up during a war. You're gonna have to train for at least another twenty years before you can even think about kicking my ass.“

Callan wants to say something, but can't for Lothar's hand is still keeping his mouth shut. But he won't give up that easily. So he wiggles his right leg around until it is partially free before he brings it up in a small motion and rams it into his father's groin. Lothar shudders atop him and curls in on himself immediately, not able to hold Callan down any longer, while he writhes around in obvious pain. The young soldier almost feels sorry for his father, his commander, but he can't bring himself to do so. Everything he's done right know is something the man's had coming since a long time ago. And it's still not enough. So he kicks Lothar's side, making him fall on his back again before he sits down on the man's thighs. His hands turn into fists, and as his father is still trying to get himself together from Callan's attack, he starts beating his chest.

“You've got no idea what you've put me through!“, every word is accompanied with a hit. Lothar is finally lying still, taking it like the soldier he is, which makes Callan even angrier, “Do you have any idea what it feels like to know that you will always be the second best at everything because you can't compete with a dead person?! Yes, she was my mother, but you've practically put her worth over mine! You never showed me any love whatsoever; you never cared about me! I just-“, slowly, the aggression declines and the punches aren't real punches anymore, as the anger bleeds out of Callan and leaves nothing but hurt and emptiness. Lothar looks at his son like he's seeing him for the first time, his face becoming wet from Callan's tears, “I love you, like a son should love his father, and this makes it hurt all the more when you refuse to look at me, when you refuse to say my name! It just hurts, and I don't know how much longer I can cope with this! You have no idea how much I wish that Mom survived, and I died instead-“

“Don't even think that!“, Lothar roars, finally released from his spell of apathy. He surges up and wraps his arms around Callan, pressing his son's face against his shoulder, “Don't say that, please. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, too.“ Lothar closes his eyes tightly at the mental image, event the thought of losing his son too much to bear. He presses a kiss into Callan's hair. Callan cries, the feeling of his father hugging him so new and foreign that it brings more tears to his face. He's distantly aware that some of the other soldiers barge into the room to see what the commotion is about, but Lothar waves them away, and they relent when they see father and son comforting each other. “I'm trying, son, I really am. I can't-“, Lothar licks his lips, his voice soft, “I can't promise you anything, not right now, but I swear that I'm going to think about our relationship, and how to make it better. Please, give me another chance. You're all I have.“

After this, they're both quiet, Callan's sobs dying down to hiccups slowly. Lothar starts rocking his son from one side to the other, something he hasn't done since Callan's been an infant, and the gesture is as soothing to the young soldier as it is to him. Finally, when the silence seems to become oppressive, Callan starts, “I want your affection,“ he murmurs, “I want you to praise me, to declare to everyone who does or doesn't want to hear it that you're proud of me. And I want you to stop drinking all the time and finally tell me about Mom.“ Lothar breathes sharply, “You can't heal if you don't talk about her, Dad. You've gotta stop drowning your sorrow in mead all the time. I once read that there are five stages of grief“, well, technically, Khadgar has been the one to find and explain it to Callan, but Lothar doesn't need to know that, “which are denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. And you've been stuck at the depression phase for years, with the habits you've picked up during the preceding three stages so deeply ingrained into you that you don't know how to change them.“

Lothar runs a hand over his face, clearly uncomfortable. When has this man ever liked talking about his feelings? “I don't … I don't know, son, if I'm ready.“

“Just promise me to think about it while you're in Ironforge,“ Callan's voice becomes hopeful. Even after all these times that his father has disappointed him, he's willing to give him another chance. Lothar sighs deeply before complying.

“Alright, I'll think about it,“ he manages to stand up and drag Callan along in one fluid motion. The latter wipes the tear tracks from his face, feeling exhaustion creep into his bones. Lothar stands before him once again and runs his knuckles over Callan's cheek in an affectionate gesture before his hand falls to his side. He looks uncomfortable, “So … you're here because of your shield, right?“

Callan knows that his father wants to change the topic, but he lets it slide. Anduin Lothar's emotional capacity can only take so much once a day, and this limit has been reached. So he nods, “Yeah, I need it for tomorrow.“

“Riding with Llane, eh?“, his father's voice is teasing as he takes one of the lances from the timber scaffolding and uses it to juggle one of the shield's from the wall to the ground, “Keep an eye on him when he wants to take a dump in the woods. He's always, and I mean 'always', the one who sits down in the Briarthorn.“ Callan laughs, he can't help it. The image of King Llane, holding his naked butt in pain is just too damn funny. He takes the shield from his father, who puts the lance back and then acts like there are dust particle's he's got to swipe of Callan's shoulders, all so that he can touch his son for a few more seconds. “Take care, son.“

“I will, Dad, I will.“

Lothar smiles a real smile that doesn't grace his face often these days. It makes him look ten years younger at least, and Callan wants it to stay in his Dad's face forever. But he can't have that, not yet anyway. So he thanks his father awkwardly for retrieving the shield for him, makes his way to the door, and then leaves the Armory, not looking back.

 


	7. Nightmare on Fel Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I do not trigger anyone with this. Please head back if you don't want to read about very vivid nightmares and their aftermath, and corpses.
> 
> Or you can just skip this chapter altogether. This is basically my explanation how Khadgar managed to sneak into the barracks.

Callan's gone for a few days when Khadgar has the first nightmare.

_It's darkness, all-consuming darkness, which leaps at his feet as if alive. He's standing in a pool of the stuff, unsure of where he is exactly, as he cannot tell up from down and left from right when suddenly the color of the water changes. It becomes green, a sickly hue of the usually bright color, and Khadgar feels wrong just looking at it. It doesn't smell bad; it doesn't feel bad at all; but Khadgar realizes that this stuff he's standing in, this green substance, is the worst thing he's seen in his life._

_And then the green energy starts wiggling up his legs, his stomach, his chest until it reaches his head. Every part of himself exposed to it feels like it is on fire, while simultaneously experiencing the symptoms of an atrocious case of frostbite. Khadgar coughs, it feels like something is stuck in his throat. When he brings his hands up to touch his neck, he spots the sudden change of his skin color. It's taken on a greenish hue, almost the same as the energy still leaping at him, crinkling like old paper. He feels like he's aging rapidly, like the energy, the green fire, is burning the life right out of him. This thought shakes him, makes him panic; the feeling that something is stuck in his throat isn't stopping, he cannot breathe, everything is hot and cold at the same time, he doesn't, he can't, no …!_

Khadgar gasps awake, the transition between sleep and dream almost non-existent. He realizes that the stuff stuck in his throat is vomit, and bends over the bed, puking his dinner out. Afterward, he's dizzy, leaning his forehead against the bed frame and closing his eyes, trying to calm himself with a breathing technique he's learned in Dalaran as a way to concentrate better. His heart beats a mile a minute, and he thinks everyone in the castle can hear it, the way it's pounding in his chest. But nothing happens, his fear of being discovered only that; fear.

He sighs in relief, runs his fingers through his damp hair. He feels disgusting, with vomit dribbling down his chin and his night shirt wet from sweat. With shaky legs, he stands up, carefully not to step into his dinner splattered on the floor and makes his way to the window, opening it. Cold night air sweeps into his room, and he groans thankfully when the chilling breeze touches his overheated skin.

It has been a very long time since a dream has shaken him up like this. Khadgar can still remember exactly what it has felt like to stand it that green sludge, to have it slide up his body, and his stomach turns again, the bile rising in his throat. Khadgar has to take deep breaths again, lest he starts puking once more. It takes a few minutes, but he's finally able to relax his body, then looks towards the bed. He wishes Callan were here, just to comfort him and to tell him that everything's fine and that he can go back to sleep, but as he's not here but on his way to Redridge. Khadgar has to cope on his own.

Sleep eludes him that night, but he's putting it to good work by cleaning the room and changing the sheets, before washing up himself. Clearing his body off the disgusting stink of sweat and the vomit is nice and makes him feel better almost immediately. As the sun is about to get up, he is finally able to think about this green stuff without emptying his stomach. He faintly remembers something from his education in Dalaran, some dangerous magic that fits the symptoms of this weird green stuff. He's pretty sure he's read about it, but he can't remember the exact details.

Khadgar spends the rest of the day writing down everything that he can remember, neglecting his personal needs to find out the truth. He's certain that his dream was some vision, a warning from a higher plane that something is about to happen to Azeroth. Of course, he can't be sure that this is true, but it's all he has, so he just rolls with it. Khadgar only stops reading and re-reading his notes when the letters blur before his eyes and he thinks he is going to collapse. With his last strength, he manages to drag himself into the bed, having just enough energy to cover himself with the blanket before he's out like a light.

The nightmares continue for more than a week. The sick feeling in Khadgar's stomach grows and grows until he feels like it's alive, ready to break through his abdominal wall to crawl out of him. He's not sleeping, he's not eating, and by the end of the week, he's a mess. There are dark circles under his eyes and a haunted look that doesn't seem to go away. He wishes not for the first time that Callan were here so that he could share his problems with the young soldier, except his friend won't be back for another two weeks at last. Khadgar feels lonely and depressed, going so far as having hallucinations of him and Callan having a conversation. It hasn't been clear to him at all that he's so dependent of his friend already, yet it does not come as a surprise to him, more like a silent 'oh'-moment.

Khadgar imagines the young soldier helping him go through all the little things he wrote down about this strange feeling, asking him questions about it. 'What does it look like?' and 'What does it feel like?' trigger something deep within the mage's mind, like ringing a bell in an empty Cathedral. The echo reverberates within him, and suddenly, a memory surges forward; of him standing between two book shelves in the darkest corners of Dalaran's Magical Library, where he felt drawn to a certain book bound in old worn out leather. He'd opened it on a random page, wanting to know more about those individual magics the Kirin Tor didn't teach him about, and this book contained information on a certain brand of magic that's of the darkest kind. Khadgar sees the page of the book before him as if he's holding it in his hands once again, as the wisdom contained on it had shaken him up pretty bad.

_Fel magic._

This is it, the name of the foul sense twisting Khadgar's gut in that very moment. Finally putting a name to it calms him significantly, as he can now concentrate on the actual problem. Taking his quill and his notes, he scribbles FEL in capital letters under the list he's written down earlier this week, before he slumps in the chair, feeling a serenity that makes him breathe freely for the first time since his nightmares have begun, the tension seeping from him like water. He closes his eyes, sighing deeply.

Khadgar's probably fallen asleep, because when he opens his eyes, it's past noon. He jerks awake, almost falling from his stool, but manages to catch himself before he makes contact with the stone floor. Asking himself what has woken him from his slumber, he looks around, the dark feeling that's been lifted by the revelation a few hours ago back in full force. Khadgar stumbles to his feet, rubbing his tired eyes before he tries to hone in on the foul magic which sends him signals like a beacon. It is close, very close, coming towards the city faster and faster. The mage mentally asks himself what to do, if he should even try to look into this thing; the answer's been clear before the question even formed in his mind. He wants to get rid of this sick feeling in his gut, get rid of it once and for all, so he takes his cloak and fixes it around him, clasping the brooch in its place, before he goes out of Callan's room alone for the first time, venturing into the dangerous world to finally understand what's been going on.

At this hour, Stormwind is bustling with life, a stark contrast to the magic he's searching right now. He's a little suspicious of everyone, not for the first time wishing for Callan's calming presence at his side. Sidestepping a man in a turban selling corked perfume bottles, he realizes that the queer feeling is so near that he could probably touch it if he so wanted. His eyes gaze through the bustling streets, trying to see something in the crowd, and finally, his patience is rewarded. A man yells at some people, demanding the crowd before him to split to let a hay wagon pass. There is no hay strapped to it, however; instead, a thick blanket made of harsh wool covers the content of the cart, and more than one person tries to identify what is lying on it. Khadgar's nosy too, so he draws nearer to the wagon and tries to look for some clues. The man dragging the wooden construction screams, his voice hoarse, when the wheel gets stuck on a random stone poking out of the street. The cart jerks over it, something rolls out of the cloth – and the people nearest to it jump into the air in shock, including Khadgar. It's a lifeless arm, dried as if something drained all the fluids from it. Some people scream, and the man curses again, putting the handles down and hurrying back to the wool to stuff the arm back under the cloth. Afterward, he continues on his way, but the people of Stormwind have now seen what has been brought here, the crowd parting without the man having to tell them. Khadgar is sure that the Fel magic comes from the corpse – or bodies – so when the people dissipate, Khadgar follows after the wagon, always keeping at least a fifty yards between him and the vehicle.

His way takes him through the Trade District, then Old Town, before it goes all the way from the Canals towards Stormwind Keep. Khadgar tries to look as non-suspicious as possible, so he does the very thing that Callan advised him to do when walking around; he struts around like he owns the place, like he belongs here, and no one pays him any attention at all, which makes his surveillance much easier. The man takes the cart up the stairs, more than one limb falling out from beneath the cloth. Khadgar follows it towards the barracks which he's always tried to avoid before, then sneaks down behind a decorative hedge to observe the man's actions.

More men come out once the wagon comes to a stand, soldiers in leather tunics and a few priests from the Cathedral. They slowly pull the wool cloth off, some gasping at the sight before them; more than one darts towards the nearest bush to lose their lunch, and even Khadgar finds his stomach turn when the stench wafts towards him. But he reins himself in, does not let his weakness control him, and then watches on as the men start to carry the corpses into the barracks one by one. It almost seems like it's taking forever, there are so many bodies … Khadgar's entire being fills with dread, then sorrow when he sees how young some of the men and women that died have been. Only when the last corpse has been brought in does he notice the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Wiping them away, he waits until the men leave the building, then thinks about how to get in without being seen. He knows that there are probably more than twenty people still in the barracks, so just striding in is not going to cut it. Khadgar starts pulling his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger; then an idea strikes him. If he can find some coal, he'll be able to manage a simple invisibility spell. Looking around, he finds a fireplace, sneaks to it and grabs some coal before darting back towards the hedge. Kneeling down, he manages to paint a rune on the ground with a stick, before mumbling, “ _Vo'nus omaar,_ ” and adorning the same rune on the back of his hand and his neck. They start to shimmer and glow with the blue light of Arcane magic, just like his eyes, before he feels the telltale signs of the magic settling around his body. The spell is an easy one, as it will break the light around him, making it seem like he is invisible. He just has to be silent and make sure not to make any noise or bump into anyone; then he'll go unnoticed by the people in the barracks. Of course he knows how to do spells that would be even better, but the preparation and concentration he will need before them are too much; he's a little desperate right now, as he feels like if he isn't going in there to find out about the Fel right now, he won't get the same chance again, so he seizes this moment. Breathing in deeply, he puts the coal behind the hedge, before he gets up and walks towards the barrack's entrance.

The luck is on his side. A soldier opens the door, so Khadgar can slip in behind him without having to do anything in his invisible state. The man doesn't seem to notice his presence, as he continues on his way, which almost makes Khadgar exhale in relief; but only almost, because even the releasing of his breath could draw the attention of someone he hasn't seen yet. So he keeps himself together, trying to make out where the soldiers put the corpses of those poor souls that got in touch with the Fel. It's not too difficult – he's mainly following his nose, as the stench of the dead is quite peculiar. They've probably been dead for several days before being brought here, and this fact is now Khadgar's entrance card for finding them as fast as possible. He walks down some stairs which were likely carved into the stone when the barracks were under construction, and then almost stumbles upon the corpses.

The atmosphere down here is thick with death and gives the long hall a depressive presence. Candle holders on each side of the entrance and then every two pillars illuminate the room, contributing to its dark appearance while the sun shines in from the ceiling in uncertain beams. The dead lie on each side on low cots, wrapped in linen sheets which have probably seen some use of late due to them being blotched with blood here and there. Even being here this very moment, being so near to the Fel – if it truly is the Fel – puts Khadgar on edge, but he goes on, all the while trying to discern which corpse he should examine.

He finally settles on one that's smack in the middle of the hallway, so that he won't be interrupted by someone accidentally running into him. His hands only tremble slightly when he pulls the linen sheet off the dead man. A thought pops into his head, should he have brought materials to cover his hands? While he is not afraid to infect himself with the Fel, the man might have had a sickness because of which he became a victim of the offensive magic in the first place. But then he pushes the thought aside and continues his examination by crouching over the corpse. The man's face – Khadgar calls him Richard in his mind because he looks a little bit like a Richard if a dead one at that – is lacking all fluids, which makes his corpse look drained and mummified. His eyes seem to be missing, too; perhaps a hungry raven stole them away to feast, yet Khadgar sees no claw marks around Richard's eyes indicating such a thing. Has it really been the Fel that did this to the poor guy, leaving him like a waxy corpse?

Khadgar experiences a great swell of pity, especially when he tries to talk himself into opening Richard's mouth. If the Fel is still inside his body, then he will probably show signs here, like Khadgar did in his nightmares. In those, the Fel always entered his body by spilling into his mouth, counting on his swallow reflex to get further inside his body. That's why he always pucked his guts out after he woke up, and here it is probably the same. Of course, most of it is just speculation, but he's got to try.

So deep in his thoughts is Khadgar that he only notices someone has entered when the person is standing right behind him. At first, he assumes that a sword will be held at his throat, but the person doesn't seem to see him. Looking over his shoulder, he sees an old soldier of maybe forty years staring at the corpse like he's seen a ghost. He mumbles to himself, “Why is he not covered? I'll tear that Grendly a new one, I swear-”, the soldier draws forward to reassemble the linen cloth and cover Richard up, but before he can reach it, he stumbles over Khadgar and falls.

The mage himself can't help the involuntary yelp that escapes him, and he feels the runes dissipate. Damn, he should've thought about that. This natural spell can only be used when one is not to engage people, as it evaporates the moment one makes contact with any living thing. This contact happens to be a grumpy warrior, now searching the cause for his stumble. An outraged gaze focuses on Khadgar, then the guard springs to his feet. Khadgar manages to stand up and get away from the guy a few paces; only fate makes him stumble over his cloak in that instant. He smacks onto the floor, and the soldier, who's followed him up and has been directly behind him, puts a boot on Khadgar's back and presses him down, holding a sword to his neck. Khadgar swallows, trying not to be overcome by the panic that rises in his throat.

“Who have we here?”, the man drawls, “A little sneak trying to get his hands on the treasure of some dead guards?”

“Wait,” Khadgar tries to get up, but the guy is relentless, going so far as mounting his pressure up. Khadgar grunts in pain, still trying to speak, “Wait, please. I can explain!”

“Yeah, I know,” the warrior pulls him up by the neck and presses him to the next wall, bringing his face dangerously close to the mage, “You're gonna explain, and then I'm gonna throw you in jail. Can't have a petty little thief like you get away with disrespecting the dead.”

“No,” Khadgar says, courage in his tone which he does not feel right now. But better than to have his voice tremble with fear, “I need to finish the examination of the body.”

“There's not gonna be an examination!”, the man bumps him into the wall behind him once to prove his point, making Khadgar groan in pain, “We're not gonna listen to some sneaky person who thinks he can just waltz right in here – how did you do that anyway? I didn't see you before stumbling over you.”

“I'm not going to tell you,” Khadgar stays stubborn which seems to enrage the man before him even more. His entire face warps with anger and the mage knows he has to get his request out before the man seriously hurts him, “I want to speak to whoever is in charge here.”

The guy narrows his eyes before an ugly grin splits his face, “Good, that's good, yeah,” he mutters, before dragging Khadgar towards the other side of the hallway by his cloak and opening the door. Behind it is another corridor, smaller than the one before. The doors on either side pass Khadgar in a blur as the warrior pulls him with him. A few times he tries his captor to stop dragging him like a doll, but the man only retaliates by pulling him along harder. When they finally come to a halt, Khadgar almost stumbles to the ground again, if not for the harsh grip of the guy, “The person in charge will be back shortly”, he opens the door and pushes Khadgar in, who can't help but stumble against the desk, “Won't be much left off you once he's through with you. He's nasty”, that's why the grin's so ugly, “He'll leave nothing but bones off ya.”

Khadgar draws himself to his full height. He's not small, but he's not super tall either yet still has a few inches on the man. Pretending to feel more courageous than he does calms his mind considerably. “Then he should bring it on. I'm not that easy to intimidate.”

The guy laughs harshly, “He's gonna make you eat your words, kid.” His voice draws away, “Oh man, this ought to be funny. Can't wait to hear him cry for his mom's tits. Should probably inform Sir Karos.”

Khadgar takes a few deep breaths, then panics with dignity. What is the worst the person in charge could do to him? If he pretends to be a normal person and doesn't show that he's a mage, he'll be able to get an average cell and can teleport out any moment he wants. But then he'd be a criminal to Stormwind and its allies, so that falls through. And the worst case would be that they send him back to Dalaran to be punished by the mages for his insolence.

Running a hand through his hair, he curses his stupidity for going in here without a backup plan. If he'd brought the coal, he could've teleported out of here this instant, but no, he had to leave it behind the hedge. Tearing at his hair, he tries to concentrate, to formulate a plan to convince whoever's in charge to let him finish his examination. Sitting down at the desk, he goes through the books that are clattered on it, opening one. It appears that he has to wait for the man who's going to make him 'eat his words' as the guy from right now eloquently put it. Khadgar guesses that he can at least bridge the time until that happens, while his eyes already devour the first written words on the page.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Vo'nus omaar_ is dovazhul, the language of the dragons of Skyrim. It roughly means 'invisibility' ( _vonus_ ) and 'hour' ( _omaar_ ).


	8. The Boy in the Barracks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on I will jump between different people's perspective in a chapter, sometimes even during one scene. It just explains some actions so much better.
> 
> By the way: The long awaited meeting in the barracks. Enjoy!

The first few days after the confrontation with his son leave Anduin Lothar deep in thought.

He thinks about everything he's ever done. Every interaction with his son that he's able to recall, every motion he's ever made towards him. And he thinks about his drinking, the one part of him that he can't live without right now.

Anduin tries, he does, but upon his arrival in Ironforge, he finds himself in a tavern with his Dwarven guide Dem Streamhammer, an average male of his species with a beard so long that it drags on the floor. Dem invites him to his favorite place and sets a mug of Dwarven ale in front of him before he can react. Not to drink it would be a terrible insult, Anduin knows this, and he also realizes that Dem is probably ascertaining his reaction, so he sighs deeply, takes the mug and downs it in one large gulp. The dwarves relax when they see him drinking like on of their own, and just like that, Anduin's good intentions spill down the drain.

Feeling guilty for breaking his promise to Callan so quickly, he tries to tone it down at least, but the dwarves insist, and Anduin knows that Stormwind can't risk alienating them right now. There have been reports about something going on in the south, but none of them have been clear so far. If there is an unknown enemy just waiting to wage war against the Kingdom of Azeroth, then they cannot risk their allegiances with Khaz Modan crumbling to dust just because Anduin Lothar refused to drink a few mugs of ale.

And part of him, a small selfish part, is not ready to change just yet. Yes, Callan's outbreak and his sobs have shaken Anduin to the core, but now his ego takes over, asking him why he should just stop drinking from one moment to the other. He feels that he's not ready to quit just yet, but doesn't know how to make Callan understand this. So he holes himself up, stays in Ironforge a little longer than necessary until the ale is a constant pleasant buzz under his skin.

Meanwhile, the talks with the dwarves are successful. So successful, in fact, that the head engineer Redbeard takes Anduin to the Great Forge to show him how, despite the size of anvil and furnace, the smallest mechanical parts can be forged with remarkable precision. He then goes on to show the human a present to celebrate the satisfactory outcome of the negotiations.

“Lothar,” he calls while Anduin is examining two curved blades that are twice the length of his arm, “I've got something for you.” The warrior risks a glance, holding his leather jerkin against his chest with his left arm, while the right one rests at his side. He steps towards the dwarf who proceeds to open the box with something akin to wonder and excitement in his eyes, only to show him … a stick?

It's the size of his leather bracer in length, but much smaller and more delicate. It looks like someone tried to make a sword yet forgot to forge anything besides the hilt. Anduin looks at the dwarf with asking eyes, “What is it?”

“A mechanical marvel,” while Redbeard answers, Anduin puts his jerkin next to the opened box to have both hands free and get a better look at this thing. Before he can grab it, however, the dwarf already takes it out of the box, all while explaining to the warrior what this is, “It's a boomstick.”

A … boomstick? What is that supposed to mean? Anduin watches as the dwarf holds the boomstick with a well-practiced hand, then aims it towards the forge. His arm is steady, his grasp does not tremble. The warrior finds himself mimicking the gesture, worry and excitement at what the boomstick can do mingling within his chest. Only the arrival of another dwarf running towards the pair prevents the engineer from showing Anduin why exactly these things are called boomsticks.

“Odd,” Redbeard lowers the boomstick. The other dwarf, a little shorter than the head engineer and with a beard as black as the night, walks the last yards towards him, holding a scroll in his hand, all the while trying to catch his breath. Meanwhile, Anduin gets his hands on the boomstick, trying to reproduce the dwarfs earlier pose. He stops listening to the two, striking the same pose, then turning around and pointing the boomstick into another direction. Suddenly he's interested what it is that makes this thing work, marveling at the aptitude with which the dwarves craft such incredible weapons. When Anduin looks into the hole at the other end of the boomstick – he's not stupid, he knows that's where the boom is supposed to come from – he smells gunpowder. He also realizes he's still quite drunk when he puts his finger inside, not caring if the thing could cause him severe injury or not. He touches something cool and metallic, but before he can investigate further, the head engineer turns towards him, his expression grim.

“You might wanna head home, big man,” Redbeard says, practically holding the scroll into Anduin's face, “Someone's attacked one of your garrisons.” The warrior's eyes widen. He grips the scroll, putting the boomstick in the crook of his arm, then unrolls the parchment to read the urgent message:

_Commander Lothar,_

_one of our garrison's was attacked a few days ago. We do not know by whom, nor do the know the exact circumstances. Taria and I will make for Stormwind with all due haste, while you shall prepare our soldiers and investigate the bodies of those that died for any clues as to who the murderers are. If all is well, we shall be in Goldshire in three days time. Meet us there._

_King Llane_

It's an official letter; Anduin can tell because Llane calls him 'Commander'. According to the sharpness with which his friend wrote the letters, Anduin knows that Llane is sick with worry. Something appears not to be right. And Anduin feels dread creep into his stomach like ale gone sour. He hopes they are alright, especially since Callan, Varian, and Adariall are with Taria and Llane.

Anduin lets the scroll fall close again, then jumps to the table and almost throws the boomstick into the small chest, much to the redbeard's indignation, before hoisting said chest under his right arm and grabbing his leather jerkin with the other, “I have to go. My king needs me.” Redbeard nods, his face grim too, and Anduin starts running down the large hallway of the forge, before stopping and turning around, coming towards the head engineer again. The dwarf can't help but grin when the warrior skids to a halt before him.

“Where can I borrow a gryphon?”

-

Hours later he arrives in Stormwind, the gryphon he's managed to borrow from the dwarfs rubbing its beak against Anduin affectionately before it takes off again. Anduin almost bemoans the loss; the beast's been an excellent companion during their flight, and he'd have liked to ride it again, however now is not the time to cry after it. Anduin turns on his heels, then makes his way through the city towards Stormwind Keep. While he is practically running, he pretends not to notice the fear that's carved itself into the faces of Stormwind's residents already. It won't do him any good to stop and ask what has happened, as he can already guess as much, so he just continues towards the Keep, trying to keep the guilt at bay.

When he finally reaches the barracks, he takes a deep breath before stepping in. The air is thick with death, and Anduin chokes slightly. A few soldiers run past him, obviously not able to stay in the barracks much longer, and the warrior doesn't blame them. Who knows how long those poor bastards have been in here, anyway?

Hearing the shuffling of feet, he continues on his way to the hall and ultimately his office to read the report, only to be stopped by Karos on the way. Karos is pale, something he hasn't been often in the twenty years they've now served together, while there's also a certain edge to his way as if some news have enraged him. He clears his throat before speaking, “Commander, you have to come with me. Varis is waiting to ascertain what exactly happened to those poor guys.” Anduin just nods, indicating Karos to follow him. At the bottom of the stairs, Varis joins them, still clad in his armor, taking his place on Anduin's right side, while Karos walks on his left. Anduin looks around the room, noticing corpses on either side and in such number that his stomach turns. How could this have happened?

“An entire garrison, and no one saw anything?”, he looks at Varis, who holds his glance and appears just as confused as his commander.

“We did find someone,” he says, looking at Karos pointedly. Anduin's head turns to the soldier on his left.

“He was searching the bodies, here, in the barracks.”

Anduin stops abruptly, forcing the other two to halt their way as well, then turns towards Karos in complete and utter indignation, “In the barracks?” Karos nods, looking a little put out. Anduin presses a hand into the other man's chest, “Whatever is he doing here?”

“We-,” Karos swallows, “We don't know. According to Williams, he was just … there. Williams stumbled over him when he wanted to right the linen sheets which had been pulled down.”

“Who is this person you found?”, Anduin's voice gets dangerously low. Karos is used to this behavior, but still can't help his stomach from dropping.

“A kid,” he says. Anduin slowly continues to walk towards the other end of the hall. Varis follows him and Karos scrambles to stay next to the commander, “He said that he could explain everything, but refused to talk to anyone but the person in charge.”

Anduin groans. He's not been in Stormwind for more than a few minutes, and already people want to talk to him. Light, he needs a drink. Before he can do that, however, he has to take care of this matter. Only then can he go to a tavern for a quick mug, “I better talk to this kid, before he gets too bored. Where is he now?”

“In your office, commander,” Varis answers. Anduin flexes his fingers and makes them pop, before continuing his stride. The three are silent for the rest of the way until they reach the door to the commander's office. Anduin sees a guard near it whose nasty grin puts him on edge.

“Who's that?”, he asks quietly.

“That's Williams, the one who found the guy in the hall.”

Anduin grips the door handle, “Make sure he doesn't listen in. I don't trust him.” Karos is surprised, but Varis simply nods. He's known his commander long enough to know that if Anduin Lothar doesn't trust someone on first sight, this person is either keeping a secret or has a nasty character.

Anduin opens the door, expecting anyone is sitting there, a spy, an assassin, but not the sight that greets him. A young boy, even younger than Callan it seems, jumps to his feet, one of Anduin's log books falling from his hand. The guy looks like a dirty, scruffy teenager and the image of a puppy pops into Anduin's head. But he's not here for pleasantries and especially not to listen to anything the boy has to say. He wants answers. So when the boy comes near him, asking him if he's in command, he just grabs him by the arm and pushes him on the desk, before taking his compass and pinning the kid's arm to the table with it. By chance, he rolls up the child's sleeve and there it is, the mark which indicates the boy's allegiances. He cannot question it, however, as the brown eyes start to glow.

-

Khadgar's waited patiently for the commander, indulging himself by reading the man's personal notes. He knows it's a rather blatant violation of personal space, but he doesn't care. He's bored. And every time he's bored, his mind goes to his dreams and the Fel again, and he feels sick. So he guesses that it's better to read some of these notes than puke into this guys office, thank you very much.

The commander finally arrives when Khadgar is just about in the middle of the small booklet. He stands up, letting the book go in mid stride and exclaims a loud, “Finally,” before taking a few steps towards the man, “You in command?”

The commander doesn't answer, however. Instead, he practically throws the mage on his desk, pinning him down with a compass and then rolling up the sleeve under which his greatest shame lies hidden. Khadgar feels like he is in the alley again, helplessness swallowing him up, and thinks that any minute a cold dagger is going to get pressed against his neck. He panics, calling unto the Arcane and feels it answering him with a deep vibration that shakes his entire body before he yells the first word that comes to his mind, “ _Shala'ros_!”

But the man reacts just as fast as the Arcane came to him. He covers Khadgar's mouth with his big hand, fixing the Arcane runes swirling around the mage's own with a grim glance, before gazing at Khadgar with piercing blue eyes.

“That's the mark of the Kirin Tor. What are you doing in my city, spell-chucker?”, he asks, and there is something familiar about him, but Khadgar can't quite point his finger at it. Stiffly, he stops using his magic altogether, feeling that he' s got to give the guy some credit as he hasn't even flinched at his display, so he lets the magic dissipate slowly and is rewarded when only moments later the man's hand leaves his mouth. Finally, can he make his case.

“Let me finish my examination of the body across the hall.”

The commander leans forward, pressing the mage into the table with his forearm and weight, “Now why would I do that?”, he asks, a hint of irony in his voice. It doesn't face Khadgar as it should, however, so the young man just continues with his pledge.

“Within that body is the secret to your attacks.”

The man draws even nearer towards him until Khadgar can smell his breath, which indicates that the man is a drunk. Excellent, how will he ever take him seriously, “Who are you, spell-chucker?”

“My name is not important,” Khadgar licks his dry lips, his heart pounding in his chest like a trapped bird trying to get out, “What is important is that someone is attacking your men, slaughtering them without trouble, and I think I know how it is possible.”

“Why should I believe you?”, paradoxically, the commander removes the compass from Khadgar's arm so that the mage can cradle it against his chest, before drawing away from him. Khadgar feels warm where the man's weight pushed him down and almost thinks it sad that the both of them aren't as close anymore as before. Going without the contact of another for more than a week seems to be his limit before he craves it again, he muses. By the Light, he needs help.

To get his mind to other topics, he resumes himself to answering the question he's been asked, “Do you think that I examine the dead for fun?”

“Who knows,” the man leans in again, and Khadgar can just barely hold in the sigh of relief when the contact between them is established again, “There are all sorts of sick people. Guys who fuck corpses for example”, Khadgar wants to curse his rather active imagination right then and there, as he sees a picture of what the commander just said right before his inner eyes. He goes pale with disgust and the commander grins, showing off his teeth. Khadgar can't help but feel like prey on this desk. His gaze roams around the room and sees that two people are standing in front of the door, their silhouettes barely visible through the grid.

“Let me assure you, I am no such thing,” Khadgar tries to come up with a reason so that he's allowed to continue his examination. His eyes return to the commander's, who are such a bright blue that he swallows, “But I am a seeker of the truth, and I think I know what killed those men and women. If you let me see if my assumption is right, then it is all the better for you, and if it isn't right, we'll at least know what didn't kill your soldiers. You've got nothing to lose.”

The commander's left eyebrow wanders to his hairline, before he barks with laughter, “He really is a spell-chucker,” he says, then steps away from the desk. Khadgar pulls himself up and slides down, trying to right his robe, “Alright, kid, you've got one chance. You can continue your examination. If you're right, good for you. If you're wrong, I'll throw you into a cell and get rid of the key.”

Khadgar's stomach fills with dread at those words, but he nods, “That's fine with me.”

“You've got guts, I'll give you that”, the commander opens the door and just walks past the two soldiers that stand there. Khadgar follows him, looking around nervously. He sees the guard who's found him earlier and shudders, before advancing towards the hall with the corpses. Now the rest of his life depends on the off chance if Fel killed the garrison's soldiers or not. On one side, Khadgar desperately hopes for the former, as not to spend the rest of his life in prison, while the other possibility will be even direr. He just hopes that, whatever happens, he'll somehow make it through.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically how I think this meeting continued. I don't believe that Lothar was ready to show some weird youth who also has magic the corpses in the barracks after two sentences.


	9. Revelations?

Anduin brings Khadgar to the corpse. He sends Varis to inspect the troops and tell them to get ready before he and Karos carry the cot with the body to a small table and set it down there. The body is now elevated as well as lit, and suddenly the mage seems to be less courageous to investigate his claim. But he won't be able to back out. Anduin will make sure of that.

“Continue your examination,” he says softly, dangerously. Khadgar swallows, before he steps forward and, with a tentative gesture, puts his fingers into the guy's mouth. This is not how he imagined things to go, but now he's got to roll with it, or he'll find himself in prison in the next few moments. And he's pretty sure that Callan's influence, significant as it may be with him being the Queen's nephew, cannot get him out of there without a good reason. So he does as he is told, all the while having the person in charge watching him like a hawk. A wet sound is heard when he crooks his finger in the man's throat; Anduin tries his best to pretend he never heard it. The boy sets his other hand on the dead man's head, turning it around slightly like he's looking for something specific in the corpse's throat. And he seems to find it because suddenly his hand jerks away and a green mist evaporates from dead lips.

Anduin jumps away, faintly aware that Karos is doing the same. Also, Khadgar is wiping his hand on his trousers, and Anduin fixes him with a stare, pointing at the corpse, “What was that?”

The boy sways, like he's about to be sick, but steadies himself at the table before speaking, “We must summon the Guardian.”

Karos squints his eyes in recognition, “Medivh?”

“It should be he who explains it,” Khadgar points in the general direction of the corpse but tries not to look at it again. Anduin would mock him for it if not for the confusing and slightly disgusting situation.

“Only the King summons the Guardian,” the boy swallows. He probably didn't think that he would get to see the King in his naivety. Amateur. Llane must be informed about this, however, so Anduin strengthens his resolve and looks at Karos, pointing his thumb in the mage's general direction, “Get him to Goldshire.”

Then he leaves them there without so much as a second glance towards the teenager, making his way back to the gryphon's master. He's got to inform his King and prepare him for the tales of a runaway mage.

-

Callan is grateful that something has happened.

Not that he's wanted those people to suffer, but the birthday party for the noble's daughter's been one of the most boring events of his life. Callan had to stand guard the entire time, making sure that Adariall and Varian wouldn't run off and disappear into the vast estate to seek more enjoyable activities. Every night, he'd been exhausted from running after the both of them all day in full armor, and mostly just fell into bed face first, but it always took him some time to fall asleep.

After the third day, he realizes that he's missing Khadgar's warm body next to his.

This little agreement of theirs had started on a cold, chilly night. Before that, Khadgar had slept on the floor, only covered by a thin blanket while Callan took the bed. That particular day, the temperature sank fast after the sun had gone down, so by the time Khadgar and Callan had gone to sleep, the mage had to lie down on the cold stone floor and was chilled down to the bone after only a few minutes. Eventually, his teeth had chattered so hard that Callan had gone up and offered the other boy to sleep with him in his bed, to 'share' their body heat to keep warm. Khadgar had agreed thankfully, promising the young soldier that he'd sleep on the floor again the next day.

But he hadn't since. That night had been one of the most peaceful sleep they'd both had in a long time, so Callan decided to keep Khadgar around. Their relationship only intensified from there, turning them from associates to best friends eventually. And slowly, the loneliness that carved into his heart every time his father didn't so much as glance at him, was slowly taken away by Khadgar's easy smiles. Before long, Callan came to rely on the mage to ease his emotional pain, and in return tried to help Khadgar with his own.

Callan sighs and stops reminiscing when the rider before him comes to a stop; he almost smacks his head on the ass of the horse in front of him as it is. Some of the soldiers behind him laugh at his stupidity, but Callan knows that they've been in this situation at least once before, too. The only thing that nags at him is the fact that his little trip down memory lane could've very well cost him his life if someone had decided to attack their baggage from his side.

Looking at the beast before him, he sees that they've arrived in Goldshire at least. He sees his uncle, King Llane, climb out of the carriage that had been provided by the noble they'd visited, while servants from the local inn rush to his side to attend to the horses. The moment the king's feet stand on the muddy street, he's flanked by many of his higher ranking soldiers who waste no time in trying to determine what's happened. A part of him wishes that he could listen in on them, but Callan is quite comfortable where he is.

While the king makes his way into the warm inn, Callan steps towards the still open carriage. Taria sees him and smiles, then takes the hand he offers her as gracefully as a queen should. She takes the few steps down and seems not to care that her travel clothes become splattered with mud when Varian and Adariall jump out after her. Callan tries to swallow his laughter and fails miserably.

“Let me escort you inside, your majesty,” he says when he finally reigns himself in again and offers Taria his arm. She takes it graciously while Varian and Adariall giggle next to her. They enter the inn together when a few maids leave it, offering the tired soldiers outside skins filled with sweet wine and bread for a pretty coin.

The inn is bustling with life and filled to the brim with soldiers clad in full armor. King Llane has commanded a large table in the center to be his headquarter and already started putting maps of the Kingdom on it. The innkeeper serves some of the men and women ale, a small mug to freshen their moods, but nothing more. They all know that this is serious, and being drunk on the job can very well mean their lives.

Somehow, seeing his uncle and the most experienced soldiers standing around this table, contemplating what this threat to the kingdom could be, makes the seriousness of this meeting sink in. There are people who oppose this kingdom, who burn down villages and leave nothing but death and destruction in their wake. He's heard enough tales to know how this is likely going to end, especially with his father and his uncle playing such vital roles in the last matches against the trolls.

This will turn into war.

Somehow the thought alone is enough to make his stomach fill with dread and at the same time make his blood boil. He's never been in a serious fight before, just some random matches where the opposing party yielded before it even had the chance to end bloody. Callan wants to know how it feels when you stand across an enemy and know that the slightest miscalculation can cost you your life. He's heard from the other soldiers that it's quite the kick and some even seek it because they cannot live without it anymore. Perhaps that is the reason why his father still goes out on all these missions despite being drunk off his ass most of the time, just so he can feel that kick, too.

A commotion outside brings Callan back into the present. He tries to care, but a maid puts a warm meal in his hand, a thick soup speckled with meat, and his mouth waters just smelling it. Taria sends him a knowing smile when she catches his gaze and Callan ducks to the other side of the inn to eat. The first spoon has just made it into his mouth when his father strides into the room like he owns the place, quite obviously drunk. Callan doesn't know how to react to this; he knows that dwarves like to drink and that his father most likely couldn't have said no either way, but it hurts to see the man like this after he'd made that promise.

Anduin Lothar strides directly to the king and engages the man in a whispered conversation as soon as he's reached the table. Callan can tell that his father is upset about something, for his hands twitch as if they want to grab the hilt of his sword. Taria sees it as well, as she comes to Callan's side and sits down next to him, “Something happened.”

“I guess so,” Callan takes another mouthful of soup and almost spits it out as it scorches his tongue, “Ow … he's pretty upset about something.”

“You can tell?”, she smirks and nods towards his hands, “He's made this gesture ever since he was a kid. When I pranked him, I always knew when I had gone too far.”

“You pranked Dad?”

“Consistently,” Taria's innocent smile does not fool her nephew. He knows that his aunt is pretty fearsome in her right and practically knows everything, “And your uncle, too. I once put honey in their shoes, and they didn't realize it until flies and other insects surrounded them to get it.”

“How can you not notice honey in your shoes?”, Callan asks, laughing quietly as not to draw his father's attention to himself, “It sounds pretty disgusting to me.”

“Well, if one's inebriated to the point where they don't now what's up and what's down anymore, one tends to pay less attention to their senses.”

Callan goes quiet. Although it has started alright, this is just another story of his father's stupidity while drunk. Has there ever been a day when the man had not consumed at least one bottle of mead? Taria senses his mood swing, as she places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Don't worry, everything will be fine,” he doesn't know if she means the situation with this unknown enemy or his relationship with his father. She stands up while brushing her hands down her robe, “You enjoy your dinner, Callan. I have to go to Llane and see what your father has to say.”

Callan thanks her with a wave of his hand before he continues eating. When the soup bowl is empty, he burps before he gives it to one of the maids and stands up. His father is deep in conversation with King Llane, as he hasn't even seen that Callan is in the inn yet. It's better this way, Callan muses, before he has another episode and starts beating his Dad again in front of all the other soldiers. This would be an incorrigible blemish on both of their reputations, so the only logical consequence is to get out of his Dad's way until the guy decides to stop drinking and has a real conversation with him.

Sighing, Callan makes his way outside. It's getting dark as the sun has descended quite some time ago. He sees the gryphon his father flew here with rubbing its head against a rather large pine tree as if trying to scratch an itch, and his first impulse is to laugh. If he didn't know that this creature can be pretty dangerous with its talons and its sharp beak, he'd think it almost domestic.

For a few minutes, he watches the majestic creature rubbing its body against the tree before a group of riders catches his interest. They stride towards the inn on horses draped with the emblem of Stormwind identifying them as soldiers from the city. Callan stays where he is and watches as the men ride in the shadow towards the inn before they're finally illuminated by the light from the torches. He recognizes Karos, one of his father's most loyal soldiers, and automatically assumes that his father is providing some fresh men to guard the King. Thus he is not prepared when Khadgar suddenly appears behind Karos, the hood of his cloak drawn into his face. Callan feels his mouth go slack with surprise, then with dread. If Khadgar is here, then something must have happened with the mage, considering his father showed up and spoke to the King in secret moments after he'd arrived here. Callan hopes it's not too bad.

He walks towards the horses in big strides, coming to Khadgar's side in an instant. At first, his friend does not see him as he is too busy sliding off the horse with as much dignity as possible, but when he turns around, he jumps a foot into the air as he realizes that Callan stands behind him.

“Callan!”, he gasps, his voice laced with surprise, and then his face lights up with happiness. A moment later, the young soldier finds his arms full of Khadgar, “I've missed you.”

“Khad,” Callan is just as surprised at the mage's enthusiastic response as Khadgar is with his presence, but feels his body respond to the hug, putting his arms around his friend's frame and pressing him to his chest, as much as his plate armor allows it. They hug for a few seconds before Callan releases Khadgar from his arms and grips his shoulders, looking into his eyes intensely. He's scared that the mage has done something wrong and was apprehended by his father. That's why he just has to know, “Khadgar, did you do something?”

Khadgar looks at him like a boy that has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “Yeah.”

“What did you do?”, Callan's stomach fills with dread, “It's got to be something bad because Dad looked pretty upset.”

“Dad?”, Khadgar inquires. Callan grins sheepishly, and the mage's eyes widen, “You mean 'that' is your father?!”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, by the light,” Khadgar stumbles and barely manages to hold himself up. It seems his strength left his body, “I didn't know. If I had, I would've turned him into a sheep the moment I saw him.”

“I'm glad you didn't,” Callan looks around to see where Karos has gone to, but the man is busy getting the horses fed, “But what happened, Khad? I thought you promised me not to do magic in the city.”

“I didn't,” finally, Khadgar stands up straight again and rubs his stomach absentmindedly, “Well, not much. I just … I can't explain it thoroughly, Callan …but … I felt something.”

“Felt … something?”, it is the first time Callan's heard about something like this. He knows that mages can sense a lot of stuff which are invisible to others, like the flow of magic itself and such things. But before that, Khadgar had never come to him when he felt something specific, thus making it a topic they'd rarely spoken about, “What did you feel?”

Khadgar is about to answer him, when Karos steps towards him, “Callan,” he nods towards the blonde who can only stare in shock when the other man throws a nasty look towards the mage, “Bring him to your father. I have to get back to Stormwind and help Varis with our preparations.”

“Of course, Karos,” Callan is a little overwhelmed with the entire situation, so before he can ask Karos any questions of what transpired with the mage to make him so unlikable, the man is already on his horse and rides into the night. Callan looks at Khadgar, totally confused, who just stares on the ground, “Seriously, what did you do to get him that pissed?”

“Nothing bad,” Khadgar's voice is barely audible, “They found me in the barracks. I was examining the bodies there-”

“Ow,” the young soldier runs a hand over his face, “Then it's clear to me why Karos doesn't like you. The men in that garrison were friends of his.”

“I know, he made sure I knew on the ride here,” only now does Callan realize that Khadgar rubs his behind gently, “I'm sore all over because he kept going so fast and my horse just … followed. It didn't even listen to me when I tried to slow it down.”

“Don't worry. We can fix that. I was the same when I became a soldier and learned how to ride,” Callan grins slightly, still worried, “But as much as I'd like to continue our conversation, we've got to get inside. They're probably all waiting for you.”

“Yeah, probably,” the mage swallows harshly, and Callan wants to run away with him, but grounds himself by putting a comforting hand on Khadgar's shoulder.

“Don't worry. I'll be there, and I'll hold you back if you do something rash.”

“Geez, thank you,” Khadgar grins a little bit, even if his hands shake with nerves, “I do have manners, you know.”

“Really? In your pinky, perhaps?”

“Asshole”, Khadgar punches Callan on the shoulder, then walks into the inn, his shoulders sagging slightly, Callan right behind him. The young soldier mentally pats himself on the shoulder for a mission accomplished, making Khadgar relax at least a little before facing the King. He'll need to be calm and collected for whatever he's here to tell.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently looking for a beta reader, If anyone would be interested, please write me under the email address phoenixfeder_1999@hotmail.de. Thank you for reading until here.


	10. A Royal Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is finally time to get this journey started!

His heart beats in his chest like the hammer of a blacksmith.

Walking into the warm and generously lit inn, he sees soldiers loitering about everywhere, drinking ale or eating soup. They look exhausted, but optimism shines on their faces, and their admiring glances are set on the commander, on Anduin Lothar, the one person Khadgar wants to smack upside the head for how he treats his best friend. Shaking his head slightly, he tries to get rid of these thoughts; there are more pressing matters at hand, one of them the Fel, and he has to inform the King and his soldiers what they're up against, or they will all die in the next battle.

The mage gazes through the room, finally locating the man in intricate clothes wearing a crown upon his head. Even without it, he would've recognized him as the King, or at least as a crucial figure, due to him having the best table in the inn near the chimney, which is only given to either the highest ranking officers or a person with enough money or influence to matter. And, if not that, the commander standing behind the dark haired man is a dead give away.

Khadgar draws nearer to the table, Callan next to him. A bunch of soldiers is standing around the table, looking at a broken shield forged in the likeness of a lion's head. A woman stands next to them, her face giving nothing away although her body language bespeaks of her worry. It is a rather intimidating sight, with all these influential people of the kingdom in one place, but Khadgar cannot shrink away from them now, not when he has valuable information for them that could very well mean life or death. So he swallows his growing anxiety down, trying to calm himself with a few breaths, and approaching the situation in a rather – peculiar matter, like answering the King's question, for example.

“How does a garrison of thirty men disappear without a whisper?”

“The Fel,” all eyes swirl towards Khadgar, confusion, and anger for the intrusion on their faces. Khadgar makes another step forward, “At least its influence-”

He feels how Callan puts an arm in front of his chest and holds him back, casting a glance his way that seems to say ' _what the hell are you doing, this is the King, be careful_ ' all at once. He answers with a reassuring blink ' _don't worry, I know what I'm doing_ ' and Callan's arm sinks again.

The King looks at Lothar and asks, “Is this him?” Lothar just hums in affirmation, and Khadgar suddenly remembers his manners inclining his head towards the King.

“Your Majesty.”

Lothar walks around the table towards them, a mug of ale in his left hand. Khadgar sees out of the corner of his eye how Callan can't take his eyes off his father, “Dad.” The way he says it sounds wrong to Khadgar's ears, like Callan is trying to hide how much he's hurt.

The seasoned warrior looks his son up and down, “Thank you son.” Callan nods, apparently dismissed, and Khadgar can only look at him incredulously when he retreats into the back of the inn. So this is what his friend has to put up with on a daily basis? Alright, with both of them in a military career, they're bound to be professional once in a while, but this sounded like the usual. If so, Khadgar can understand Callan's resentment towards Anduin Lothar, and his gaze focuses on the man himself for a brief second, trying to stare daggers at him. Only when the King addresses him does he look towards Llane again.

“So, who are you mage?”, Khadgar glimpses towards Lothar's face again, before stepping forward some more.

“My name is Khadgar, I'm the Guardian Novitiate,” the King's head turns to the left like he can't believe what he hears, “I … I was, I renounced my vows-” Llane's shoulders straighten, as if readying himself for whatever lie there is to come. Why can't those people understand that he speaks nothing but the truth?

“You mean you're a fugitive?”, Lothar's interrupts him from the side, and he stares at the man as if he's grown another head.

“I'm not hiding,” while he says it, Lothar points towards Llane, making it clear who he has to convince of his 'story', even if the commander himself doesn't believe him. Khadgar's head turns towards the King again, looking at him with all the seriousness he can muster. Sometimes he hates the roundness of his face.

Again he takes a few more steps towards the table, and this time, the soldiers do nothing about it. They're probably assuming that he's a lunatic, or, according to a famous gnomish saying, someone 'who's got a few screws loose,' “Your Majesty. I may have left my training, but I didn't leave my abilities behind”, he is only faintly aware that he's using his left hand to indicate that they are two different things, “I've sensed something … Dark forces. When it's strong it … almost has a smell. Knowing that something so evil was so close I couldn't just ignore it-”, again he's interrupted, but this time it is not Lothar's fault. A loud bang comes from the outside of the inn, and not only his head swivels towards the source.

“What's going on down there?”, the King says a little louder, trying to catch the attention of his soldiers. Khadgar sees Callan talk to another soldier – the other man from the barracks, Varis if he's not mistaken – before his friend turns towards the table.

“Smoke, sir, southeast”, as if by silent order, soldiers start streaming towards the exit. It looks like they're preparing for the worst, and Khadgar addresses the King again, this time with a certain breathlessness to his voice because of the dire situation.

“Your Majesty, I urge you to engage the Guardian with all haste.”

The King looks behind Khadgar, probably sharing a meaningful look with Lothar, but he doesn't bother watching. Instead, he stands his ground, hoping that the King is at least partially going to take him seriously. And even if he doesn't, he should at least consider getting the Guardian involved in all of this. Waiting patiently, he sees the moment the King makes his decision, “I shall speak to my officers about this,” he nods towards the soldiers around the table, “In the meantime, you are to wait here until I have reached a decision, mage. Do not try to flee, for it shall be the last thing you do.” With that, he waves his hand as if to shoo a flea away and Khadgar's recedes to the side to give the king some privacy, standing next to a female warrior awkwardly. The King stands with his back towards him, making sure to keep the outcome of the conversation from him, while all around them the soldiers bustle with life. If he could only talk to Callan, this wouldn't be so bad, but a quick gaze towards his best friend shows him that he, too, is in an important conversation with some other soldiers, while Lothar and the woman from before climb the stairs to the second floor.

Khadgar sighs, yielding to a few minutes of boredom and loneliness. His butt still hurts so he stays standing and wishes not for the first time that night that he'd brought a book with him. For now, all he can do is wait.

-

Anduin knows that even though the claims of the young mage border on madness, consulting the Guardian would be their best option. They know next to nothing about the enemy that burns their villages, destroys their fields and kills their people, so having a mage as powerful as Medivh helping them can be nothing but favorable. But he also knows that Llane has always been very … cautious about asking Medivh for guidance, at least since he'd become king and Medivh had awoken from his coma all those years ago. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that both of them, Anduin and Llane, do not want Medivh to overexert himself so that he falls into a coma again, and thus try to find solutions to their problems that don't require magic.

It works, most of the time, but even Anduin is aware that they're out of their league this time. This is what goes through his mind while he watches the fire in the southeast burning away at the forest between Stormwind and Westfall. He is faintly aware that Taria has followed him up, but he won't say anything until she starts speaking.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees her leaning against the wall next to the window, watching him in concern. When she finally speaks, he is actually surprised that she doesn't bombard him criticism regarding his son, “An attack?” He looks at her with a knowing gaze, “What?”

“Stop requesting Callan,” it is not that he doesn't want his son here, or in the army for that matter, he just wants him somewhere else, somewhere safe, like a backwater garrison that has no chance of being attacked by this unknown enemy. And Callan looks far too much like his mother, so having him close is a reminder of all that he's failed, all that he's lost. He's not ready to have his son around him on a constant basis. How can he make his sister understand that? Taria just looks to the side, rolling her eyes at him, “Stay out of my business.”

“He wants to follow in his father's footsteps.”

“My son doesn't need your help.”

She looks at him dangerously, and he's momentarily stunned how beautiful she is when she defies him like this, “Tread carefully, you talk to your queen.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow, smirking, before he turns towards her and braces his right arm on the wall next to her face to look her in the eye, “You are my sister first.”

Taria's eyes widen just a fraction at his statement, and then her face scrunches up in disgust when she smells his breath. Before she can comment on his inebriated state, however, Llane ascends the stairs, a frown on his face.

“When was your last visit to Karazhan?”

A little taken aback by the question, it takes Anduin a few moments to remember, “With you, I don't know, um ...”, he knows it had been when Callan had just joined the army, so it must have been … five … no, six years back, he's not sure, “Six years?”

Llane seems to take this answer for granted, “And you've had no contact with Medivh since?”

“Not for lack of trying,” he shoots his sister a dirty look because she had always forbidden him from riding to Karazhan on his own, claiming that it was too dangerous for him alone and they couldn't afford to lose the army's commander. As if Medivh would ever harm him in any way. But this is a conversation for another time, as the securing of the Kingdom is their top priority.

“Well”, Llane fumbles with his ring, a magical token Medivh had once given his friend a long time ago. From what Anduin knows, the blue gem in the likeness of a lion would start to glow the moment Llane wanted to summon the Guardian, wishing for him to partake in whatever dire situation presented itself. It would also serve as proof that Llane wished for his guidance, as Anduin often had … exaggerated about Llane's intentions in the past when visiting his dear friend, leading to a lot of misunderstandings between Guardian and King, “He can't hide from us now.” Llane pulls the ring from his finger completely and holds it towards the warrior “The Guardian is summoned.” As Anduin grabs the ring, Llane takes another step forward, “Take the boy with you.”

“Really?”, Anduin's tone betrays his annoyance with the kid, “He's just a runaway mage spouting nonsense. Throw him in a cell for a few days so his mind clears up.”

“I don't want to risk anything, Anduin,” Llane says pointedly while Anduin rolls his eyes. The King seems to wipe dust off the commander's jerkin, but said commander recognizes this gesture for what it is, a warning not to question Llane's decisions and authority, “You will take the mage with you, and you will make sure that, whatever he claims to know about this situation, about this ' _Fel_ ', is investigated. I don't want to bargain the lives of my soldiers just because we didn't listen to someone, understood?”

Anduin crosses his arms, looks as if he's going to resist, before he nods in defeat, “Yes, your majesty.”

“Then go,” Llane steps aside to let Anduin descend the stairs, which the warrior does just moments later, “Take the bird. If you fly through the night, you'll be in Karazhan by midday tomorrow.”

Anduin hears it, of course, he'd take a bird, he's not insane to try and get through their land if it is swarming with unknown enemies. He steps towards Khadgar, who looks at him like a deer caught in torchlight and tells him to get outside. He doesn't really care if he follows him or not, so he makes his way outside, walking towards the gryphon that still rubs her head against the tree. When she sees him, however, she lets forth a sharp cry of joy and practically runs towards him, “Wow, easy girl.” He walks towards her with a smile on his face. She is used to him by now and knows what he wants, so she bends her powerful legs to make it easier for him to climb on her. Anduin thanks her by scratching her neck as she opens her wings to their full span width to give him access to the saddle, only to sit down and take the reins with practiced ease.

A look towards the inn shows him that Taria, Llane, Callan, the boy and the boy's guard, a woman by the name of Natalie Frey, have followed him outside. Leaning on the saddle, he looks towards the mage who gazes at his precious gryphon like he's never seen one before. Anduin makes a motion with his head towards his back, “Get on.”

Very carefully, the spell-chucker approaches the gryphon. She's not disturbed by his apparent nervousness, but she's not as nice as she's been to Anduin, either. As the boy climbs on behind him, Anduin can't help but roll his eyes as he immediately grabs his jerkin, if carefully so. He can't wait to get rid of this kid, he realizes, and almost huffs in annoyance when Llane steps forward, “Good luck.”

Yeah, luck is what they, or rather this spell-chucker, need, because if the Guardian does not back his story up, he's going to make sure this kid lands in prison personally. While he thinks that, he drives the heels of his feet into his gryphon's side, a clear notion that they're to fly, and she understands immediately, gets up and swoops into the night. Anduin's annoyance only grows when the boy lets out a yell of surprise and just holds onto him tighter.

And while they fly over the vast Elwynn Forest, the White Lady and the Blue Child glowing in the sky, Anduin realizes that this is probably going to be a long night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still looking for a beta reader. Please contact me if you're interested under phoenixfeder_1999@hotmail.de. Thank you.


	11. Sleeping Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta reader, Dreamers_den!

Khadgar jerks awake when he feels like he's falling.

It is quite literally. As he blinks the sleep from his eyes and looks up, he sees Lothar holding onto his leg, screaming at him with wide eyes. He then realizes that he must have fallen off the gryphon, only to have the commander save his life by grabbing him in the last second.

“By the Light, are you retarded?!”, he hears Lothar yell at him over the sound of the wind sweeping around him, “How can you fall asleep on a gryphon?!”

His still tired brain can't quite figure out why the man is so mad at him all of a sudden, and the situation only becomes apparent to him when Khadgar looks down. There are mountains under him covered with snow and ice, the melting water ripping valleys into the stone. They're not that far away from his face while they fly above them as the gryphon's altitude is not very high. Khadgar's eyes widen when he realizes what almost happened. At once, his stomach sinks, panic settling in his very being and dissolving any rational thought he still might have had. He squirms in Lothar's grasp, and the warrior strengthens his grip, “Pull me up!”

“Oh, finally awake?”, Lothar's voice sounds annoyed and teasing at the same time, but that could just be due to the wind, “I can't drag you back up, so we're going to land- STOP SQUIRMING, DAMMIT, OR I'LL LET GO!”

The gryphon is already in a descent towards a tall mountain range covered in snow. Khadgar tries to calm himself. He doesn’t, however, his thoughts overruled by the mind-numbing panic of his imminent death. He only tries to calm himself when Lothar threatens to let him go, taking deep breaths, as deep as he can, hanging from a gryphon at least 1000 feet in the air. Finally, his mind is operating in the rational spectrum again, and he remembers that he has a very peculiar advantage; magic.

Closing his eyes, he attunes his senses to the energy surrounding him, looking for the familiar sensation of a nearby ley line. Beneath them, the mountain range draws nearer as the gryphon descends, and the mage realizes that Lothar is most likely going to let his leg go the moment he discerns that Khadgar's fall will be harmless. The young man is not sure he likes this, but he can somehow understand Lothar's annoyance at him, if barely so.

It takes him but the fracture of a second to find the ley line and infuse his being with its energy. He's always excelled in this field of study, finding and attuning himself to one of the many ley lines of Azeroth in such a short time that it even impressed his teachers. It's been one of the many reasons why Khadgar was sworn in as the Guardian Novitiate in the first place, making up for his lack of experience with sheer talent and the willingness to learn everything he could get his hands on. Like the spell to slow his fall, for example.

The moment Lothar lets his leg go, his eyes flare blue, and his mouth opens, “ _Sein'mah_!” He feels the magic surge through him before it reacts with the world around him, slowing down the fall by literally sapping the momentum of it. Instead of plunging into the snow, Khadgar's now falls like a feather swept away with the wind, using his arms to turn himself around mid-air so that he won't land on his back and butt. Meanwhile, he sees Lothar and the gryphon take a turn before they land in the snow just a few paces away from him. Just as the warrior slides of the back of the majestic creature, Khadgar falls into a mass of cold, planting his feet on the ground with as much dignity as he can muster. The snow crunches under his boots as well as Lothar's, who's striding towards him, anger distorting his features. He comes to a halt before Khadgar only to grab the mage's cloak and drag him towards him.

“Are you insane?!”, he snarls, his blue eyes burning, “What the fuck do you think you're doing, falling asleep behind me?!”

“I …,” Khadgar looks on the ground, ashamed. He can't keep his gaze on it long, however, as the sun makes the snow glow so brightly that it hurts his eyes, “I'm sorry. I'm just so ... It wasn't intentional.”

“I hope so. You nearly gave me a heart attack,” Lothar rubs a hand over his face, looking as if he's aged ten years in mere hours. His entire right side is illuminated by the sun, making the similarities between this man and Khadgar's best friend stand out with a stark contrast, “Geez, I'm too old for this shit.”

“Excuse me?”, Khadgar feels challenged by Lothar's exact choice of words.

“I've got better things to do than babysit a runaway mage!” The commander goes to the gryphon and pats it's head, seething. It seems his anger is not going to disappear into thin air after this scare, like the mage has hoped, “What did Llane think when he made me take you with me?!”

“The right thing,” Khadgar tries not to reflect on how much the warrior's words hurt him, “He knows that the Guardian will be able to confirm my claims once I talk to him, thus ensuring that Medivh will know what he has to deal with once he gets to Stormwind-”

“Listen to you, so sure of yourself,” Lothar crosses his arms over his chest, looking like he wants a fight. Khadgar groans, there is no time for this, “What makes you think the Guardian is not just going to push you off his tower once he sees you?”

“He won't”, Khadgar sounds a lot more sure than he is. The other mages in Dalaran have told him that Medivh has always been unpredictable, especially these past few years, “I know he won't.”

“Somehow, I don't believe that,” Lothar mocks, then goes to the gryphon's saddle and rummages around in the bag he's strapped to it before leaving for Goldshire, relieving it of a skin of wine and some bread, “You look like a book thief. And a corpse fucker, I might add.”

“Oh yeah?”, Khadgar is getting angry. Yes, he is sore from the ride on the horse, perhaps a little scruffy because of his lack of sleep these past week and hungry because he hasn't taken care of himself all that well, but he still feels himself react to these words negatively, wanting to throw them back into the man's face, “You look like … I don't know, like a drunk vrykul mistaking his mount for a female!”

It doesn't have the wanted effect on the warrior. Instead of anger and disgust, Lothar's facial expression morphs into that of confusion, “What is a vrykul?”

“They're the people that- you know what, never mind,” Khadgar rubs a hand over his face, the will to argue with this man leaving him empty and tired. He yawns loudly and rubs at his eyes, “Let's just get to the Guardian and get this over with.”

“I'm hurt,” Lothar takes a small gulp of wine and lets the liquid warm him from the inside, “Do you not like my company?”

“No,” Khadgar answers flatly, looking at Lothar with defiance in his eyes. The warrior grins that toothy grin of his.

“Good. I don't like yours either.”

Khadgar wants to do something, like turn this arrogant prick before him into a sheep. He balls his fists while tears of frustration prick at his eyes. He needs this man, because he has no idea how to ride a gryphon and make it obey his wishes, and teleporting away is not an option with the mountain covered in snow like this. There is no way he can draw the runes on this slippery ground, so he's got no choice but to play nicely to the warrior until he gets him out of here.

Shuddering, he rubs his arms to get some warmth back into them. Even though the sun is shining on him, Khadgar feels cold and clammy, a side effect of his sleep deprivation. His stomach growls and he's envious of the piece of bread Lothar is munching on now, wanting nothing more than to rip it out of the man's hand and eat it himself.

Deciding that standing around is not going to help him, Khadgar slowly walks towards the gryphon, trying to maneuver around its sharp beak and lean wings. He knows that the beast could bite his hand off without as much as a second thought, but something tells him that it's not going to do that. Instead, the gryphon lifts its wing into the air to allow Khadgar access to the saddle, and he sinks against it with a contented sigh. The gryphon's body heat pulls him in, makes him lean against its behind. Khadgar is faintly aware that Lothar's gaze is studying him like a hawk. He just wants to close his eyes for a few seconds, to get a little rest before they take off again. Exhaustion overcomes him, slams into him like a boulder, and he doesn't even feel his knees buckle before he already drools on the gryphon's soft feathers.

-

Something about this kid is irritating Anduin to the point where he wants to slap the mage and ask him what he's doing to him.

Not only is this … teenager younger than Callan, but quite obviously exhausted. Whatever he has gone through before he came to the barracks has taken a toll on him, and Anduin feels his protectiveness rise, ready to be directed at the mage. And he hates himself for it, feeling guilty for caring about the health of a relative stranger when he isn't even capable of offering his son those exact feelings.

The rational part of him knows that he worries about Callan just as much, yet he's aware that his son can defend himself against any enemy he encounters. He doesn't know if the same applies to the boy in front of him, and this is the fact that puts him on edge. He can't explain the feelings that swirl in his chest, so he tries to pretend they don't exist, taking another gulp of wine to distract himself from caring. They will take a short break here, then continue flying to Karazhan, and then Medivh will tell him that whatever the boy is talking about is completely and utterly wrong. Then he will get rid of the kid and throw him into prison to be kept there until all of this is over and the Kingdom is safe again.

Anduin's gryphon stirs. _Something must be wrong_ , he thinks as he looks towards the beast, only to see the mage falling to his knees beside her, unmoving. Anduin is at his side faster than he likes to admit, crossing the distance between them in three quick strides. Gently, he turns the boy around, only to see that he's fallen asleep perched against his bird like that. Anduin rolls his eyes, ready to smack the kid for making him worry again, but then decides against it. Instead, he shakes him until Khadgar's head jerks, his sleepy eyes blinking at the warrior in apparent confusion. The commander takes a vial from the bag at the gryphon's saddle and uncorks it before setting it at Khadgar's lips.

“Drink,” he orders. Khadgar looks at him a little wide-eyed as if he cannot believe Anduin is doing it. It's almost enough to make the warrior let go of the boy to take care of his own problems, but only almost, “This is a healing potion. It will replenish your energy and keep you awake until the evening.”

Khadgar looks to the vial, unsure, then back to Anduin again. The warrior is about to take the bottle away when the mage finally grips it and starts drinking greedily, not relenting until it is empty. A few droplets escape his lip and dribble down his chin, and Anduin finds himself drawn to the picture, not able to do anything but stare at the boy in his arms as Khadgar's tongue slips out to taste his lips. He looks up at the warrior, not in the slightest bit aware what he is doing to him right now, “Thank you.”

“Whatever”, Anduin lets Khadgar go, and the mage falls to the snowy ground with a yelp of surprise, “Get ready. We have to get to Karazhan.” _And I have to get my head examined_ , he thinks to himself, unable to get the picture of the boy's plush lips and that rosy tongue sinfully lapping up droplets out of his mind. He groans, takes the skin of his wine and empties it in large gulps. How long has it been since such a simple display has aroused him like this? More than twenty years, that's for sure. It can be naught but a sign to finally end his dry spell, which had started with the death of his wife, if he's already so deprived to want to go after a kid younger than his son.

Shaking his head, he tries to get rid of the images his mind conjures up before he throws his now empty wine skin into the bag and mounts the gryphon. He gives her the signal to fly once Khadgar sits behind him securely, trying not to think about this 'moment' he's just had with the younger man. There are more pressing issues at hand, and his sex life is certainly not one of them. While pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, he continues forward, knowing full well that this is one of these days that's gonna have a lot of surprises in store.

Anduin doesn't know how right he is, yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the last chapter that I had written in advance. From now on, I will have to write again, but will try to keep up the two-day updating schedule. Thanks in advance for your patience.


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